a Maldição de Diabo
by stress
Summary: COMPLETE: Diana Mason was just a normal teen from New Jersey – until she met the ghost of Jack Kelly. Now it’s up to her to help solve a century old murder by the end of the month. And it’s not only his soul on the line if they fail...
1. I

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese; the surname "D__aite" is the Gaelic translation of the word "fate". _

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**a Maldição de Diabo**

April 2, 2006

_A Devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
__At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
__If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was._

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PART ONE

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**AUGUST 3, 1899**

* * *

The air was unnaturally still for an early August night. The normal hustle and bustle of the Manhattan streets was eerily absent as all had gone on their way.

All but one, that was.

There, on a silent street corner, under a dim light, stood a lone figure. The young man kept his dusty brown cowboy hat slung low over his dark eyes as he slowly brought a cigarette to his lips. Lazily, as if he did not have a care in the world, he took a long drag. Purposely keeping his back to the only building on the block with candle light flooding each room, he stood tensed, one hand fingering a frayed rope belt while the other stayed the cigarette. He was waiting, just as he had been waiting for the past three-quarters of an hour.

"Cowboy?"

When he heard the voice he gave a start, briskly exhaling the last lungful of smoke through his nose. He tossed the cigarette to the ground and slowly put it out with the tip of his cracked boot. Then, when the last ember had been reduced to mere ash, he turned. His jittery actions had betrayed his true mind. As much as he did not want to admit it, not even to himself, he was terrified.

"Kloppman," he answered, his voice low and dry, as he lifted the brim of his hat. He raised his gaze in order to eye the elderly gentleman that had just exited the back door of the Newsboy Lodging House on Duane Street. "How is she?"

The man, Alfred Kloppman—the superintendent of the Lodging House—took a step forward. The young man he was facing flinched as the blood drenching the elder man's shirt shimmered ominously in the moonlight. "I'm sorry, Jack, but she's gone."

_Gone_.

That one word echoed in his head. Visibly shaken, he reeled backwards, stumbling into the pole of the nearby street lamp. His hand dropped the ends of the rope as he groped blindly for something to hang onto. He had not been expecting Kloppman to tell him that.

"But… but how? I didn't think it was that… bad." He shook his head. He must have heard the old man wrong. There was no possible way she could be _gone_…

Kloppman glanced over at him, a wistful smile forming on his thin lips. It was quite out of place, given the situation, and it did nothing but prove to the boy that this was no misunderstanding. "You know how she is… _was_." His watery blue eyes were devoid of the amusement that Jack was used to seeing; it was that, more than anything, which told him it was all true.

The old man, aware of Jack's vacant stare, added, "Really, only a girl like her could get a knife in the side and say it was nothing but a scratch."

Jack did not need affirmation to the strength of her character; what he needed was assurance that she could be fixed—that she was alive.

But that he did not have so, in a burst of mild panic, he angrily flicked the hat off of his head; it settled, hanging down his back, courtesy of the cord that kept it around his neck at all times.

Kloppman could see, as Jack—without his hat—glared over at him, that the vacancy he had interpreted was nothing more than overt anger and barely masked grief. It hurt, watching the young man suffer, but it had to be done.

Jack needed to understand the finality of death. Even after surviving seventeen years on the rough New York streets, even after losing his mother to tuberculosis one winter and his father to Sing Sing the next, Jack still found a way to deny the reality of the day; instead Jack Kelly—_Francis Sullivan, really—_created his own reality.

Not surprisingly, the boy, it seemed, did not feel the need to face the truth just then, either. "You mean… it wasn't just a scratch?" His voice was low and demanding as he dared the man to answer. "C'mon, Kloppy. She was able to make it here after she got hurt." It was almost as if by denying the superintendent's words that he could convince himself that she was not dead. _She's not dead… she can't be. She just can't._

Kloppman nodded helplessly. A veteran of the Civil War, he had seen all sorts of injuries and knew how to bandage most of them. But this one… he just had not been able to fix her. And he felt _guilty_. "Yes, Jack, she was. But I couldn't do it. I tried my best, lad, but she was too far gone. There was so much blood," he finished lamely, needlessly gesturing to his once white shirt, trying to get the boy to understand.

There was no denying the fact that the cut had been deep. And, even with his limited education—anything he knew, he picked up from a life living on the street—Jack knew that there was no way such a small figure could survive after losing so much blood. But still… dead?

After a moment, a moment that seemed an eternity to both men, Jack nodded slowly, turning his head to stare down the empty street. His arm was raised to cover his eyes, just in case a tear found its way there; he did not want Kloppman, or anyone else for that matter, to see him cry.

That had been saved for her, and now she was gone. If only he had insisted on walking back with her. Had the poker game really been that important?

_She laughed carelessly, her light brown curls framing her pale, and slightly newsprint-smudged, face as she pushed Jack away from her playfully. "Don't worry about me, Cowboy. I'm a big lass. Besides, all I have to do is walk across town to get to the Girls' Home for the night. I'll be fine."_

_Jack smiled at her as he allowed her to gently shove him down Duane Street, toward the lodging house. "But don't you think it would be a better idea if I walked you back? Someone's gotta take care of you—" _

_There was a twinkle in her golden eyes as she grinned, cutting him off with a quick word. "And that'll be me, you brute," she kidded, patting him in the back as he slowly dragged his feet forward. She dropped her hands at her side and shook her head, still grinning. "Look, Jack, it's just about curfew. I know that you've got your poker game with Race and Blink tonight… so go, alright? I'll be fine, I promise."_

_Sighing in resignation while mirroring her carefree grin so that she knew he was playing right along with her, Jack leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss against her cheek. "I'm gonna hold you to that promise," he said, mockingly pointing his finger at her._

"_Whatever you say, Jack," she replied, rolling her eyes in amusement as she pushed his finger away. Sometimes he could be just a bit protective and it bothered her—but, deep down, it was nice to have someone care about her. In those times, it was quite the rare occurrence. She let a small, almost shy, smile escape. "Now, go. I'll see you tomorrow. How does that sound?" _

_Jack nodded. "Tomorrow." _

_But, shit, _Jack thought, regretfully and reluctantly,_ tomorrow ain't never going to come because of me… because I let her go alone. What the hell was I thinking? And _what_ happened? _

"Kloppman?" Jack asked, jerking himself out of the memories of only a few hours prior, "did she tell you what … what _happened_ to her?" He needed to know. If only to have someone to pin the blame on that was not him, Jack Kelly needed to know.

There was a pause—it was obvious that Kloppman did not want to answer the boy's earnest question—before the old man shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Jack… but she didn't. Not really. All she was able to get out was that it was just a scratch. She said she got it for running her mouth off to some guy. She didn't want to say anything else because she thought it might upset you…"

But nothing could upset him more than not knowing how—_or why, damn it_—she had died.

Well, nothing except for seeing her in the state she was in when she came stumbling into the lodging house about an hour before. He was sure that that sight would be one that stayed with him for as long as he lived, and then some.

_Jack threw down his hand of cards. Even when he had a respectable hand—a pair of aces, a pair of eights and a nine card, high—Racetrack always had one better. "I fold, fellas," he said with a grimace as he watched the boy opposite him gather the pennies from the middle of the table. _

_The three of them—him, Racetrack Higgins and Kid Blink Moore— had set up a small table in the middle of the lobby to play their card game; Kloppman had gone out back to the dining area to finish up his own supper, leaving it up to those three to make sure that no late stragglers got in without paying their nickel lodging fare. _

_The stub of a cheap, smelly cigar clamped tightly between his teeth, the short, dark-haired boy greedily piled his winnings before him. "You shoulda known better than to play against me in poker, Jack," he cracked, his dark eyes twinkling as he baited his pal._

_Jack picked up his top card, the ace of spades, and threw it across the table at the boy. "Yeah, yeah. I know, Race," he retorted before turning his head and looking at his other poker playing partner. The blond boy, wearing a brown eye patch that covered his left eye, was staring past Jack, glaring his good eye at the door that was behind them. _

_He looked confused which, in turn, made Jack a little nervous. Drumming his dirty fingertips against the table, he asked, "What's the matter, Blink?"_

_Blink shook his head briefly before letting out a small burst of laughter—laughter that he did not seem to mean—and pointing at the door. "I don't know, Jack, but I coulda sworn I heard something scratchin' at the door." He sounded almost apologetic, as if he expected one of the two others to chastise him for being so skittish._

_As both Kid Blink and Racetrack stared at the door, curiously, as if to see if they could really hear anything, Jack rolled his eyes. He stood from the table and opened the door. If Blink thought he heard something scratching at the door, he probably did. Why not check to see what exactly it was? _

_However, once he casually swung the door inward, he jumped back as a small human form fell into the doorway. There was a person—a girl—who had been hunched over, scratching at the door. _

_Without thinking, Jack scooped the figure up and began to hurry up the stairs, yelling for Kloppman as he went. Since the old man was in the dining area of the House, he was easily within yelling distance. Jack continued on up the flight of stairs, hoping that Kloppman heard him and would come after him. _

_Upon reaching the bunkroom, Jack laid the girl down on the nearest bunk. He brushed the mass of sweat-soaked curls out of her face and looked into her nearly closed eyes. "What happened to ya?" he asked, alarmed, before noticing the blossoming stain on the right side of her once-white blouse. _

_As soon as he witnessed the blood seeping through, he turned just in time to see that Kloppman had arrived, followed by Racetrack and Kid Blink. Jack ignored the two boys and looked pleadingly at the old man, with his thin white hair and glasses. "Kloppman, she's hurt. She's hurt real bad… can you help her?" he choked out before turning around and casting his eyes on her once more. _

_"Are you alright?" he asked stupidly, in shock. Of course he knew she was not but he had nothing else to say. To say "I love you" never once crossed his mind. He would regret that._

_Kloppman pushed the other two boys further behind him. "Boys, I need you to go get me some blankets and some hot water," he directed; both Racetrack and Kid Blink were gaping at the sight before them. _

_When they turned and began to stomp down the steps, Kloppman turned to Jack. The boy had not moved from her bedside. "And, Cowboy, I think it would be best if you waited outside. I'll get you when everything's cleared up," he said, his tone more gentle than it had been, as he took the boy's elbow and began to lead Jack to the door of the bunkroom. "I'll do my best," he added before turning around to attend to the fallen girl. _

_Jack nodded. He made to call to her—reassure her, anything—but paused when Kloppman closed the door behind himself. Jack stared at the door for a moment before following Race and Blink down the steps and heading out to the street to wait. He did not want to see what was happening in the room at the moment, anyway._

"Kloppman?" Jack repeated, this time more desperately. He had to push aside the last memory he had of her. He would go mad if he did not. "Did she say anything… _anything…_ else before she… you know?" He was hopeful, though he should not have been. Out of the corner of his eye, he silently pleaded with the old man to answer him.

"Yes. She did," Kloppman whispered before turning his face away. His answer was not one that Cowboy would want to hear. He took a second to lift the glasses that he wore in order to wipe away any sweat that had collected before continuing, "She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry."

_Sorry? _"Sorry? Sorry for what?" Jack replied, reaching behind him to put his hat back on his head. He pulled it down low in an attempt to hide the tears that were suspiciously welling in his eyes.

Jack Kelly did not cry. His eyes just watered a little when he heard that his girl had died.

"Sorry for breaking her promise, whatever that means," Kloppman added apologetically before reaching out and resting his hand on the shoulder of Jack's grey vest. "Listen, I've got to go back in there and take care of things. It's just that, I thought you wanted to be the first to know. And, Jack, I am very sorry. She was one of a kind."

"Yeah, she is," Jack replied before turning his back on the building. Then, once he was sure he was alone again, Jack looked up into the star-filled night sky. He blinked back his tears—_I ain't cryin'—_trying his damndest to accept the cruel hand that fate had dealt him.

Behind him, a single candle was extinguished from the backroom of the lodging house; above him, a midnight raven cawed as it flew on overhead, disappearing into the darkness. But Jack paid no mind to it.

After all, it really was such an unnaturally still night.

* * *

The air was unnaturally still for an early August night. The man breathed it in deeply as he paced back and forth underneath the moonlight. The past nine months had really taken a toll on his nerves and it was hard for him to realize that, with a bit more time, his wife's pregnancy would be complete. His first child would finally be born. A happy smile crossed his tired face. _My son_, he thought. He was almost positive that the first Daite child born in America would be a boy, a strong man that would carry on the family name and tradition in the New World.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted when a shrill yell pierced the night's air. His heart nearly skipped a beat. After four hours of labor, his child had finally been born. He rushed forward, not even bothering to remove his hat as he raced up the steps and entered the small apartment he shared with his young wife. He had left the door open, so as to make his arrival all the easier, and, once he was back inside, he headed right over to the small cot in the back corner of the room. He was just in time to watch as the doctor handed a tiny bundle over to Morgana Daite.

He hung back and just stared at his flushed wife. She looked exhausted but exhilarated as she cuddled with her newborn child. As the doctor busied himself, cleaning up the blood from the birth, Morgana gestured to her husband. "Liam, come. I want to introduce you to your daughter."

_Daughter?_ He approached the cot and knelt down at Morgana's side. He gazed down and smiled at the scrunched red face hidden underneath a mass of blanket. Any objections that Morgana had not birthed a son flew out of his head as soon as he spied his daughter for the first time. "She's beautiful," he sighed.

Morgana nodded and held the baby close. Her presence made everything the couple had gone through worth it. "My Rhiannon," she murmured, total adoration already settling in.

He heard the name and wondered briefly where his wife had drawn it from. Up until the moment of birth they had assumed that the child would be male, Liam the second. But his wife knew the lore and one of her favorite heroines was the fertility goddess, Rhiannon. She was a devout Catholic and followed the word of the Lord but, as she would admit as she made a feverish cross with her hand in front of her chest, she thanked Rhiannon in her prayers for allowing her to be fertile and carry a child. It only fit that she would name her child for the deity.

Liam rubbed the tiny nub of a nose on the baby. The name really suited her.

"Rhiannon Daite," he agreed.

* * *

Author's Note_: __This story will be filled with romance, loss, supernatural themes & humor. This first chapter is a revised version of a story I began in May 2004; I brought it back to life and have actually figured out what I'm doing with this story. I hope for it not to be as long as my other works – but, who knows, eh? (**edit, 12.31.06**, **yes... it will be incredibly long. I warn you now. Enjoy!**) I hope you enjoy it and, if you do, please leave a review. I really like reviews (hint hint). _

_I also wanted to add a brief history of the name Rhiannon: _"Rhiannon is an old Welsh Goddess of the earth and fertility, of horses and birds, who has links to the Underworld and who is much featured in the Mabinogion. She finds antecedents in the British Goddess Rigatona ("Great Queen") and the continental Celtic horse-goddess Epona, who is also linked with dogs and birds like Rhiannon." _In order to follow the story to the fullest extent, keep an eye out for the Daite girls and their names. Each one will be specifically picked as you will see later._

_ETA: There are also three companion pieces to _Diabo: Prelude to a Curse, Double or Nothing _and_ Research._ Just in case you'd like to check them out, too._


	2. II

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese; the surname "__Cearr_" _is the Gaelic translation of the word "wrong"._

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**a Maldição de Diabo**

April 9, 2006

_A Devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
__At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
__If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was._

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PART TWO

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**JUNE 3, 1999**

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"Okay, miss, your fare comes to $23.50."

The accented voice, so characteristically New York, brought his passenger out of her silent reverie. The brunette in the backseat looked up from her guidebook. She glanced out of the window and saw that the taxicab had arrived at her given destination. _Duane Street_. Her emerald-colored eyes widened at the sight and she began to get excited. She had not seen her Aunt Ariadne in almost two years, since her Sweet Sixteen two summers ago. Plus, this would also be the first time that she had been allowed to visit her busy aunt in her Manhattan home rather than her spend time in the Mason household in Southern New Jersey. How could she not be excited?

She closed the pamphlet and stuck it inside her open bag. She would be spending her entire summer vacation with her aunt; she would have plenty of time to sightsee before returning home for her first semester at Rutgers University. Her Catholic school had ended the term two weeks ago; following a hectic year that culminated with her graduation, it was time to enjoy her summer vacation.

The young cab driver honked his horn once and popped the trunk. He had pulled up to curb and was idling, waiting for her to pay her fare. She unbuckled her seatbelt, shouldered her bag, and exited the cab, glad that the ride was over. She had seen countless movies making New York taxi drivers out to be lunatics behind the wheel; now she was positive the movie makers drew that from real life. The reason she had taken the guidebook out in the first place was that, after the first sharp turn he had made, she could not bear to watch him navigate his way throughout the congested streets. She valued her life – and her breakfast – far too much for that.

Reaching inside the open trunk, she pulled out two of her smaller suitcases. When she tried for the third, she had quite some difficulty prying it loose. The cabbie remained in his drivers' seat though she was sure he was watching her from his rearview mirror. In fact, she could see his cyan eyes watching her, a smirk curving his lips. But he did not get out of the cab or offer her any help at all.

As if out of nowhere, a young man, with longish brown hair flopping forward into his eyes, appeared beside her and began to wrestle with the large case. "Let me get that," he said as he removed it from the confined space. He walked it over to the sidewalk and placed it down, a scowl on his handsome face. "What the hell took you so long, Rhiannon?"

_Rhiannon?_ _Huh?_ Confused, she began to protest but stopped when the driver reached his hand out of his window and banged the roof of the taxi twice, drawing her attention back to him. She hurried over to the passenger side, pulling her wallet out of her shoulder bag as she went. She withdrew a pair of twenty's and handed them to the young driver, distracted. He thanked her with a pleased smile but she barely paid any mind to him. Instead she turned to where the brunet man had stood with her suitcase.

He was gone. There was no one waiting on the curb apart from her luggage. Surprised, she turned and approached the first person that passed by her on the street. "Excuse me, sir, but… uh… did you just see a guy put this suitcase down here?"

The business man paused for a moment before glancing at his watch and resuming his quickened pace. Her mouth hung open at his obvious display of rudeness.

"Welcome to New York, Miss Mason."

She closed her mouth and looked up at the old man who had just exited through the front doors of the building that stood right behind her. He was severely wrinkled, had very thin white hair and watery blue eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. While he seemed awfully familiar, she could not remember where or when she had ever seen him. But at least he knew her _real_ name… "Huh?"

He bent over stiffly and retrieved the suitcase that was waiting on the curbside. "My name is Alfred Kloppman, Miss Mason. Your Aunt Ariadne sent me to bring you to her apartment," he explained, gesturing to the building he had emerged from.

She nodded, her eyes still squinted as she looked him over. _Oh, that's right. Mr. Kloppman. Aunt Ria's butler. I remember him now. I guess I just didn't think he was _that _old… _

Unaware that the girl was looking at him curiously, Kloppman continued with his explanation. "She had to run out on an errand and wanted me to make you feel at home." He turned around, her large bag in hand. "Right this way, miss."

* * *

"Where would you like this last bag, Miss Mason?" the old man said, speaking for the first time since entering the building. He had smiled reassuringly on the elevator trip up to the penthouse apartment but, apart from introducing himself and inviting her inside, he had remained quiet.

Diana Mason smiled up at the elderly butler who had led the way down the hall to what would be her room. "Thank you, Mr. Kloppman. You can place that bag on top of the bed, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all, Miss Mason. After all, that's what your Aunt Ariadne pays me for." He reciprocated the smile as he slowly placed the last of her luggage on top of the bed. "I must say, though, I'm quite surprised that your aunt is allowing you the use of this room while you're visiting us here."

Diana walked around him, pushing her long light brown curls out of her face as she sat down on the bed next to her bag. Curiously, and a touch suspiciously, she asked, "Why do you say that?"

Kloppman pushed his wire framed glasses up his nose and quickly looked behind himself. When he had confirmed that the two of them were, indeed, the only two in the guestroom of the elegant penthouse, he lowered his voice. "Now, don't tell your aunt that I told you this tale but, Miss Mason, the thing about this room is… hmm, how do I tell you this?" he said, again looking around the room. His blue eyes were searching. It was almost as if he was expecting someone to pop out at any moment, berating him for telling the young girl _anything. _

Diana laughed, both at the butler's paranoia and the strange idea of someone lurking in the room that had just come to her mind. "You know… you make it sound like someone died in here or something, Mr. Kloppman."

With a snap, and a deadpan expression on his otherwise gentle face, Kloppman turned to eye her once more. "That's exactly what happened, miss."

As quickly as Kloppman was able to turn and face Diana, Diana was able to cease her laughing. A chill went up and down her spine; for some reason, she was reminded of the young man she had briefly encountered on the curb. "Are you kidding me? Someone actually _died_ in Aunt Ria's penthouse?"

"Well, not quite," Kloppman admitted before continuing, "Someone… ones… did die here, but, not _here _here. They perished down on the second floor of this building." He paused. "That had to be, oh, almost a century ago, now."

She let out a short laugh, harsher than her earlier one. She was obviously relieved; having never been one for ghost stories, the idea that this room might contain lingering spirits bothered her for some reason. Sure, she had been quite a fan of such fantasies when she was younger, especially when it came to the idea of reincarnation, but her mother had always insisted that ghosts and witches and the like were just the products of over-active imaginations. "A hundred years ago? Phew. You had me going there for a second, Mr. Kloppman. I thought you were going to tell me that someone croaked in that bed a bit more recently than one hundred years ago."

But Kloppman did not look as if that had anything to do with lessening the seriousness of his tale. The severity of his expression, concerned lines etching themselves deeper amongst the butler's wrinkles, wiped the smirk from Diana's face. "If only it was that simple, Miss Mason. You see, back during the end of the nineteenth century, this building served as a lodging home for poor orphans who sold newspapers for a living." His eyes took on a glazed appearance almost as if he was remembering such a time.

"Why didn't the people just buy their newspapers from the machines?" Diana interrupted, confusion taking its turn on her face. It sounded strange to her, the idea that people actually _sold _newspapers to make ends meet.

Kloppman looked at Diana and his eyes lost that glossy look. He inwardly debated to himself as to whether or not the young lady was joking. With a sigh, he explained: "Back in 1899, the newspaper giants employed 'newsies' to sell the newspapers to the public because home subscriptions and paper vending machines hadn't been developed yet." When he saw Diana nod her understanding, he continued, "Well, one August night, in that same year… 1899… a young orphan girl died. That wasn't unusual. In those times, many children were lost. However, it was what happened next that makes this story so strange.

"It's been said that, one year to the day of her death, a young man that was close to her gave up his own life… his own soul… in order to avenge her death. According to the legend that has been passed down over the last century, that young man, in turn for his own existence, was given one hundred years to seek the cause of her death. If he was able to do that, he would be able to rest in peace alongside her. If not, he would be doomed to spend eternity to wander the Earth looking for the one that got away. A Devil's curse, they called it. Doomed.

"And that's not all, miss. It's also been said, according to that same legend, that there would be one person who would be able to help the young man achieve his destiny. A helper, if you will. And it would be up to that person to make sure that the young girl's death was solved. For she didn't die of any of the diseases of the day… if truth be told, the young lass… well, she was murdered."

"Damn." Diana, her slim hand covering her slightly ajar mouth, sat on the queen-sized bed, listening to Kloppman's story. It sounded entirely made up to her but she could not help but be curious. The old man seemed so serious; it was hard to remember that ghosts and curses do not exist. "And did he… the young man, that is… did he ever find out what happened to his girlfriend?"

Kloppman shook his head slowly. "I wouldn't know, Miss Mason. All I know is that the loss of those two lives was enough to shroud this building is some sort of doubt. Though, I must say, it has also been said that a relative of your mother once encountered the young man haunting this very bedroom almost twenty-five years ago."

That did not sit well with Diana. Straightening, she narrowed her eyes on Kloppman. "Hold on a second. Let me get this straight. Not only did some chick get murdered and some dude killed himself in my aunt's building, but one of them is still hanging around?" Her chills returned and she shuddered. "I don't like that at all."

The butler realized that, with that ending to his story, he might have gone just a step to far. Adopting what he hoped passed as a comforting smile, he awkwardly patted the girl on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Miss Mason. It's just a tall tale I heard tell of from me grandfather when he used to be the caretaker of this old building, back when your grandparents held the deed. Nothing to be worried about."

She was not sure if she believed that; however, she was not going to admit that to this old man. So, nodding, as she remained sitting on the bed, Diana attempted to absorb all of the information, including that final tidbit about her grandparents. Curious, and grateful to change the subject, she asked, "Grandma Étaín and Pop-Pop used to own this building too? I thought they always lived down in Florida."

Kloppman shook his head again. "Didn't you know, Miss Mason? Not too long after I… I mean, they found the young man's dead body on the roof of this building, the CAS… the Children's Aid Society… they shut the lodging house down and the other orphans sought out different establishments. It didn't matter to them. The kids believed it was haunted and wanted nothing to do with it, anyway. No one did after the rumors got out so it was your great-grandmother, Rhiannon, and her husband who were able to snatch up the deed to this place at such a great deal. It was also them that hired the first Kloppman to work as… caretaker." He paused for a second. Shaking his head, and trying to discuss this part of the tale without telling _too _much, he continued, "According to my family, it was my grandfather's father who had worked with the newsies and was hesitant to leave this building. He had an attachment to it, I understand, and felt partially to blame for the two deaths. He had—"

_Rhiannon…_ Much of Kloppman's tale was tuned out after he revealed the name of Diana's great-grandmother. Rhiannon. Hadn't that been the name that strange boy called her? Or did her own mind interpret it as such because she had heard, at some point in her life, that her mother's grandmother was called Rhiannon?

Her thoughts – and Kloppman's story – were both effectively cut off when a third voice rang out down the hall and in through the open bedroom door.

"Diana? Kloppman?"

Kloppman's already pale skin flushed noticeably as he heard Ariadne Cearr's crisp voice call through the penthouse apartment. He tensed visibly before turning his attention back on the girl. "Just remember, Miss Mason. I didn't tell you none of that fable. Your aunt doesn't think too highly of me repeating that story as it doesn't reflect well on this old building." His voice was higher than it had been. He really did not want his employer to know that he had been speaking about ghosts and the like.

Diana nodded, a smile on her lips. She felt bad for the man. And, besides, the way she figured it, it could not hurt having her aunt's butler owe her something. "Don't worry, Mr. Kloppman. I won't tell Aunt Ria that you're telling ghost stories about the room I'll be staying in this summer."

Kloppman nodded solemnly, missing Diana's playful, and mischievous, smile. "Thank you, Miss. And, now, if you don't mind, I think we should attend to your aunt."

"Sure thing," Diana replied, patting the last of her luggage, as she stood up off of the bed and followed Kloppman out of the room, not recognizing the slight breeze that seemed to follow the pair out. She did, however, hear the almost inaudible sigh of relief that the man emitted. That, she purposely ignored.

* * *

_Author's Note: __My aim is to have this story updated weekly so here's week two :) I wasn't planning on giving out all the names so far but I did – as well as the meanings behind them. Hopefully you guys understand exactly where I was going with that. _The meaning of the names mentioned in this chapter is as followed:

_Diana_: "Diana (whose name simply means "Goddess") is the Roman goddess of the wild places who protects women and girls, especially virgins. She was praised for her strength, athletic grace, beauty and hunting skill."

_Étaín_: In Irish mythology, when Midir fell in love with and married Étaín, his first wife, Fuamnach, became jealous and cast several spells on her. After she turned Étaín into a butterfly and sent a wind to blow her away, Étaín landed in wine that was drunk by a pregnant woman, thus enabling her rebirth. She eventually, after many happenings, found her way back to Midir.

_Arianrhod_: "Arianrhod ("Silver Wheel", or "Queen of the Wheel"), is the Welsh Goddess of the Wheeling Stars, and one of the Children of Dôn, the Welsh mother goddess and counterpart to Danu. She signifies the still point in the middle of motion, the paradoxical position at the center of the wheel where one is moving yet still."

_Ariadne_: "Ariadne ("the Utterly Pure") is the Minoan (Cretan) Great Goddess and Mistress of the Labyrinth, who is goddess of the shining moon and the dark underworld. She represents tangled issues and their untangling, deep, core issues, and the dark secret at the center of the maze, that to be healed, must be brought out to light. She is believed to be a distant relative of Arianrhod."


	3. III

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

_

* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

April 16, 2006

_A Devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
__At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
__If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was._

* * *

PART THREE

* * *

Ariadne watched the back of her niece as the girl exited the den area. She had brought take-out food – _Chinese, best in the City –_ home for herself and Diana and the two women, aunt and niece, sat down to a cozy dinner, forsaking the larger dining area in favor of the den. She had been excited to see her sister's only child after such a long time apart. They spent the better part of the meal discussing Diana's completion of high school as well as her plans for the future. True to her word, Diana said nothing of what she and Kloppman had been talking about before her aunt had returned home for the night.

As soon as dinner was finished, and just after Kloppman had entered the room and began to take away the dirty dishes, Diana announced that she wanted to explore the immediate area to "get a feel for the city". Ariadne had hesitated but gave in when her niece batted her eyelashes. She had been had and she knew it.

Now, with a sigh, she turned to look at Kloppman. "Alfred?" she asked personably, using Kloppman's first name instead of his last.

"Yes, Ms. Ariadne?" Kloppman answered as he cleared the glass table of the coffee cups and saucers from the after-dinner coffee. She was always Ms. Ariadne, no matter how familiar they were.

"Do you think it was smart to let Diana out tonight?"

"I don't see why not, ma'am."

Ariadne paused and pulled at a loose brown curl that had escaped from her bun. Kloppman caught sight of the action and quickly returned his gaze to the table. All the Daite girls pulled on their curls when they were anxious. "Alfred. You know as well as I do who it was I encountered in that old bedroom."

Kloppman continued to clean up the mess, not quite meeting his employer in the eye. "You knew it had to happen, Ms. Ariadne. It's the curse. It's one of you gals that have got to help him. You tried to help him when you were younger. Now it's Miss Mason's turn. Isn't that why you've allowed her to visit you here for the first time alone?" he asked, simply.

"'The curse' is right, Alfred. And you're it," Ariadne shot back, momentarily losing her temper, purposely choosing not to answer to his observation. To be honest, she was not quite sure why she finally agreed to Diana visiting her without her mother as a chaperone. She and Arianrhod had decided years ago that they would not allow any children they had to ever meet up with the boy; when it was her twin that went on to marry and have a child, Ariadne swore she would keep her niece away from this place. The years passed and when Diana's sixteenth, then seventeenth, birthday rolled by and he had yet to appear to the young girl, she thought he had finally left their family alone. The girl was quickly approaching her eighteenth birthday now; it seemed fair to allow Diana to visit her. But, then again, maybe Kloppman was right, maybe it was the curse. Maybe she _had_ finally given in in order to fulfill the damn thing. After all, she had known that the time would come where the next woman in line would have to do their best to help him. That was their fate – their destiny. _Their curse._

"Alfred?" Ariadne called out, shaking those thoughts from her head. Now was not the time to get lost in the memories.

"Yes, Ms. Ariadne?" Kloppman replied. He had not moved from the room since Ariadne first called to him; this was not the first time he had to deal with the curse. Ariadne was not the first woman he had seen get drawn in by the boy and his plight.

"You know the boys' story better than anyone, correct?"

The answer was a respectful nod. Of course he did.

"I mean, you tell it to enough of the tenants downstairs," she added, a steely look coming to her green eyes. The minor wrinkles the woman had around those eyes went taut as her jaw set.

The answer this time was a shameful nod. Maybe he _should_ stop telling the story to the tenants but, at least, when he spun the tale he kept Ariadne and her family's part out of it. As well as his own.

"Well, then, this is it? Diana would be his last hope, right? Fourth generation, one hundred years? She would be the one, if anyone?" Ariadne asked, all sarcasm removed from her voice. For now, she was serious. But, then again, she usually was when she discussed this topic.

Kloppman paused; the cups balanced in his hands tinkled slightly as the old man involuntarily shook. "That's right, Ms. Ariadne. The curse ends in two months time if the boy you knew all those years ago is the boy of my tale." Of course he was, but Kloppman would never tell anyone that. Even she would never understand his role in the entire ordeal.

Ariadne ignored Kloppman's last remark as she remembered the sorrow filled chocolate brown eyes. She felt she was doing her niece an injustice by leaving the weight of their family's legacy on her shoulders. However, Ariadne could not help but think that if any of her family could be the one to help him, it would be Diana. And would not it be just like that boy to fulfill the promise just as the last sands fell? It was not as if he had had one hundred years or anything…

* * *

Diana exited the building and took a deep breath. For a minute back in her aunt's apartment she had thought that she would not have been allowed to go outside. Her aunt certainly looked like she wanted Diana to remain in doors but, luckily, she gave in – as long as she remained within a block's distance to the old building. That was fine by Diana, anyway. She just wanted to get out and experience the City.

She almost regretted her action. Lungs full of the summer air, she coughed almost instantly. New York stank. _I wonder if I'll get used to the smell, _she thought but smiled anyway. She was in Manhattan – it did not really matter how bad it smelled. She closed her eyes, taking it all in. It was such a different experience being in such a big city. She stood there, spellbound, taking in all of the sounds. It was not just loud, it was magical.

Blissfully unaware of her surroundings, she jumped when she heard a sound that was a lot closer than she would have been expecting. Just off to her left side she heard a quick crackling sound, followed by the pungent smell of something burning. She opened one of her green eyes in time to make out a young man puffing on a hand rolled cigarette. A spent match lay at the edge of his dusty brown boots. He took a drag from his cigarette and, while blowing the smoke out from his nose, he smiled at her.

It was the boy from before.

Though the sun had already set for the night Diana was able to see him perfectly. The multitude of street lamps and neon signs kept the entire city illuminated and, for that, she was grateful.

The boy was young – _Eighteen at the most_, she thought – but something about the way he carried himself made him seem so much older. His big expressive eyes were a deep brown and his longish hair was just a few shades lighter. He was tall, but not _that_ tall, she noted. His clothes, however, were something she had not truly noticed in their brief encounter a few hours earlier – and she was surprised by them now. They were, for lack of a better term, _old_.

The pants, she could tell, had once been dark but were faded now and much worn. A frayed piece of rope was tied around his slim waist. _A belt_, she thought and nearly laughed. The idea of a length of rope serving as a belt amused her more than it probably should. _Is that what I'm seeing? A freaking rope worn as a belt? Wow… _

His black vest, though, not as faded as the slacks, was covered in dust and served the purpose of covering up a stained grey shirt. And then, most noticeably, were the accessories he wore: the knotted red bandana he had tied around his neck and the somewhat crushed brown cowboy hat that hung down his back.

Her eyes remained on the boy's strange get-up. He looked like a parody of an urban cowboy from about a century ago. _Maybe that's why he seems older…because he dresses like he's eighty…_

He caught her staring at him and smirked. The boy, despite his odd clothing, was exceptionally handsome and he knew it. He removed the cigarette from between his lips and flicked it, letting the ashes flutter, forgotten, to the concrete ground. "Rhiannon." It was not a question. It was a greeting.

Without meaning to, Diana turned around. Was he really addressing her with that name again? But, not surprisingly, there was no one standing behind her. She turned back, her eyebrow raised slightly. "Diana," she answered, nodding at the boy.

The boy shook his head, thick strands of sandy hair falling forward into his eyes and, obviously aggravated, he tossed the fresh cigarette to the ground. The acrid scent of smoke, once the cigarette had been extinguished, did not linger. It was as if he had never even lit it. "Rhiannon." The only word he spoke was that. He looked at her straight in the eye as he said it; the smirk was gone from his face now. He was serious.

Now she was confused. Was "Rhiannon" the only thing he could say? She pointed at her chest. "Di…an…a." She pronounced each syllable slowly and loudly while, at the same time, backing away from the boy. Maybe the reason why he was dressed that odd was because he _was_ odd. _You never know what kind of people you'll meet in the City_, she thought to herself, as she smiled gently at him. It was better for him not to grow any further agitated at her; a friendly smile should keep him stable. _Now, no sudden movements…_

He ran his hand through his hair, pushing the shaggy pieces back, before reaching for Diana. He made to place it reassuringly on her arm but the contact never came. Diana's grin slid from her face as she jerked her arm out of his reach; he never had the chance to get any closer to her.

When he saw that she was becoming defensive, he pulled his hand back and held both of them up. "Calm down there, Rhia—"

She heard the beginning of that name again and glared. "Diana. I don't know why you keep calling me 'Rhiannon', but my name is Diana," she said, cutting him off. She also did not know why she was still arguing with him but she could not help it. He just seemed so sure that he was right; she was getting frustrated at with his cocky demeanor. And, though she had only been acquainted with the boy for a few minutes, it would bother her to no end if a random stranger got the better of her.

The boy nodded absently as he lowered his hand. He did not offer her another word as he slid his right hand behind him and slipped it into the back pocket of his slacks. He fumbled for a second, obviously searching for something. A triumphant expression flittered across his face as he pulled out a few pieces of paper and brought them before him. He kept them low and out of her sight, searching through them until he found the one he was looking for. When he found it, he placed the others carefully back into that same pocket. He then lifted the chosen one up and raised it to Diana's eye-level.

Curious, and no longer as wary as she had been, Diana took in the image. What she had assumed to be mere paper was, in fact, a photograph. It was small and square and torn at the bottom; the edges of the picture were yellowed with age. The photograph itself had originally been done in black and white – it was definitely old.

In the center of the photo, there was a young woman, around the age of nineteen. She was petite and slim and was clothed in a simple white dress with a collar that rose to her throat. Her dark hair was all curls and was swept up and pinned into place, a white hat topping off the style. Her smile was forced, Diana could tell, and from the look in her eye, she was gazing not at the camera's lens but, instead, at something that stood just beyond it.

But, what was amazing most of all, was that the girl in the picture _was_ Diana. Though the lack of pigment in the photograph could not affirm if the curls were the same mahogany shade nor could it prove that the eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sun like Diana's did, there was no mistaking it. The girl was Diana – but how could she be?

Diana stared at the picture even harder as if the image would answer the questions that were beginning to form in her mind. _This picture is at least ninety years old_, she thought sensibly, the only thought that was remotely coherent, _but that's me. How? How is that possible?_

The boy smiled at her puzzled expression and the intent way she stared at the picture. He snatched it out of her hand and pointed it at it. There was an air of victory around him when he repeated that one simple name: "Rhiannon."

* * *

Author's Note: _Here's the next chapter, right on schedule. It's still set in the same time – whenever the story is taking place in another time, I will note it at the top of the chapter. That had nothing to do with chapter two, I know, but I figured I would mention it when it was fresh in my mind. Anywho, enjoy this chapter – and Happy Easter to anyone who celebrates._


	4. IV

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

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_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

April 26, 2006

* * *

PART FOUR

* * *

_She sat on the stool, perfectly poised, though she itched desperately to change from the starched white dress. From under the matching hat she pulled at a light brown curl. It fell from its pin. Her prim and demure grin widened a bit at that. Millie would be furious if she knew that her handiwork was wasted. _

_"Rhiannon, my love?" A young man, much taller and broader than she – and appearing to be at least five years older – moved forward, crossing in front of her. A frustrated expression crossed his handsome face and he hurriedly ran a thick hand through his short black hair. Rhiannon recognized his mannerisms – and what they meant – but she was not worried. He was not annoyed at her but at the delay in her engagement portrait. "I've been told that the camera is almost ready. Can you hold on for a little longer?" _

_She had been sitting on this exact stool, holding this ridiculous position, for the past two hours. Did he really want her to wait longer? "Of course, Paul," she replied, resuming her obedient smile. She would tell him her mind later that night, after they left the photographer's shop. That is, as long as her mother was not around. Morgana Daite was quite anxious to marry her only child off to a wealthy bachelor. And Paul Robbins, in her opinion, was that man. _

_It was a pity that Rhiannon did not agree. Jack did not either. Not that his opinion really mattered, though. He just liked to think it did. _

_Beyond the photographer, busy fussing with his equipment, Jack Kelly stood, tapping his boot impatiently against the wooden floor. Every moment he spent with Rhiannon during her wedding preparations, including this silly portrait, was a moment he was not spending on his search. Annoyed, he pulled his cowboy hat onto his head and yawned loudly. No one heard him but the girl. _

_Sighing, she looked past the camera, ignoring the discussion her fiancé was having with the photographer. She distinctly witnessed Paul handing a few crisp bills over to the round mustachioed man; no doubt he was trying to hurry up the process. _

_She tried not to let any expression of disgust cross her face. She hated how Paul flashed his money around in order to get his way. Her father taught her the importance of a dollar; Mr. Robbins taught his son that money will buy his happiness. She, unfortunately, was living proof of that. _

_Rhiannon made brief eye contact with Jack and, slowly so as not to draw the attention of her fiancé, shrugged her shoulders. Jack gestured to the men huddled around the camera and then to the door. She understood what he meant: the two of them could escape the studio without either of the men realizing where they had gone. _

_She shook her head slightly. She barely made any movement, afraid to fully lose the pose that Paul had approved early on in the portrait session. Her eyes slid over as she checked to make sure that Paul's attention was still occupied. It was. She mouthed the word "soon" to Jack. The appointment would be over soon and she would be able to spend the rest of the afternoon helping Jack seek out his culprit. _

_Jack read her lips and reluctantly nodded. It had already been nineteen years as it was. It would not really kill him – it could not – to wait a little bit longer. _

_Paul, too, out of the corner of his hazel eyes, had seen her lips spell out the small word. Another dollar was hastily exchanged between the two men and the photographer nodded. Paul walked over to his fiancée and took her dainty hand in his much larger one. "No more waiting, my dear. It's time to take your last picture before you become Mrs. Paul Robbins."  
_

_Rhiannon nodded. _Finally_. She resumed her portrait smile – it was forced, but her mother said it made her look lovely – and tilted her head towards the camera lens. A barely hidden snicker nearly caused her to break up the stiff pose. Jack was laughing at her. _

_She refused to rise to his bait. He had already ruined much of her childhood; she would not allow him to ruin her engagement portrait. Again, Rhiannon looked past the camera, her smile never faltering, and sent him a message with her gaze. Hush, her green eyes told him and he seemed to get the message. At the very least, Jack stifled his chuckles. _

_And that's when the flashbulb finally went off. _

* * *

Diana clamped her eyes shut in order to stop the vision. She succeeded and the memories of a lifetime ago – or, rather, three lifetimes ago – faded away. She shook her head slightly and, hesitantly, opened her eyes and peeked at Jack. He was standing there, just as he had been standing there before the brief spell hit her, with a smirk on his face and the photograph clutched tight in his hand. She turned her head so as not to look at the faded photo again; she did not know what would happen if she set her eyes on it a second time.

She was still reeling from the sensation she had experienced after looking at his picture – or, better yet, her picture. _The picture of Rhiannon_. In her mind's eye she could still see the bride-to-be posing for her engagement portrait alongside her fiancé, Paul. The coincidence of her similar appearance, as well as the vision having the same name as her great-grandmother, was unnerving – but, she figured, it was nothing more than coincidence. There was no way that it could be her relative. Her great-grandfather, she remembered from her family tree project during her sophomore year, was a Jew by the name of Jacobs – the only non-Catholic within the vein, a tidbit that she had found interesting at the time. While she may not have remembered her great-grandfather's first name, she was sure that Rhiannon had not married a man called Robbins.

Jack interrupted her musings by snorting to himself as he carefully placed the photograph among the various other papers he kept in his back pocket. "Just so you know…that _was_ your great-grandmother…" he told her, almost absently. He did not even lift his head. He seemed to enjoy her discomfort over the entire situation. And, strangely enough, he seemed as if he had been expecting her reaction. He did not even bat an eyelash during the spell. It was as if he had been waiting for her to recover so that he could taunt her with knowledge he should not even have.

Her head whipped around to look at him. _But how did he know?_ It was almost if he was reading her very thoughts – and that frightened her. She just could not stand to be in his company any longer.

Before he even knew what she was doing – or herself, for that matter – Diana spun on her heel and hurried away. She had not made it any farther than the end of the block before she had encountered Jack; it did not take long for her to reach the front entrance of her aunt's building. Forsaking the revolving door in favor of the automatic opener, she all but ran through the lobby, not once looking back. She did not wait for the elevator at the end of the lobby either; keeping up her pace, she raced up the considerable flight of stairs to the top floor: the penthouse.

Panting slightly, her clammy hand turning the door handle that led to the penthouse suite, she finally glanced over her shoulder, looking behind her. But her haste had been in vain. He had not followed her into the building.

Ariadne had left the door to the apartment unlocked. Without even bothering to announce her reentrance, Diana opened the door, slamming it behind her as she ran through. Once inside, she slowed her run considerably but hurried into the direction of the room she had been given by Kloppman. She saw her aunt and the butler, still having a quiet conversation in the den area where she had left them. She did not acknowledge them; instead, Diana continued down the hallway. She reached the bedroom door, quickly opened it and slipped inside.

Both adults had paused, turning to glance out of the den's open door just in time to watch the teen fly through the length of the apartment. After they heard the distinct sound of a slamming door followed by the soft _click_ of a lock, they looked back at each other.

"Well…" Kloppman said, adopting the manner of one who had something to say but was well aware that it probably would be best not to, though they would say it anyway, "I would say that your fears were founded, Ms. Ariadne," Kloppman offered.

Ariadne nodded and he could see that guilt flushed the woman's face. "Do you think I should have told her, Alfred? Should I have warned Diana about the boy and his tricks?"

Kloppman shook his head. Even after all of those years, she _still_ blamed the boy for everything. When would she learn that Cowboy's role in the whole mess was as insignificant as his own? "I think that your niece will be able to handle herself, Madam. After all, are we sure that her… actions… have anything to do with the boy?" He tried to bring a reassuring expression to his tired and wrinkled face but it fell short when the pair of them heard a brief shriek coming from the guestroom.

It sounded just like Diana. A crash followed right away, and then there was a short groan.

Ariadne closed her eyes. She knew it. Jack Kelly was back.

* * *

Diana did not stop running until she had made it back to her room. She could not stop running. Every nerve, every instinct inside of her was screaming that she just needed to get away from this boy_. If he even is a boy_…

Her thoughts were occupied – all but the very smallest part of her consciousness warned her that he was trouble; the minority, almost unheard against nervous roar, wondered why, exactly, he had been talking to her. She did not notice that her aunt and the butler were still together in the den area.

Everything that passed during her flight was a blur until she reached her destination: the guest bedroom. She entered it and forcefully shut the door behind her; a turn of the lock and she was safe. There was no way – even if the strange boy wanted to – that he could get to her in there.

Proud of herself, Diana sat on top of the bed, trying to make some sense out of all that had just happened. She had ran into that oddly dressed young man twice now and, somehow, he was privy to information about her great-grandmother that even she did not know. He had provided her with a photograph of a woman that looked exactly as she did, a photograph that inspired her to have a vision of what had actually occurred the day that the picture was taken. She shook her head. She still did not understand. She doubted she ever would.

A mild breeze blew in behind her causing her loose curls to fly upwards before settling on her shoulders, followed by a rather satisfied, if snide, snicker. "Did you really think that you could get away from me that easily, _Diana_?"

It was the boy.

The damn boy was in her room.

That same nagging part of her mind told her that she should not have been so surprised that he found his way in but that part was overruled when she shrieked out. He looked pleased to have received such a response.

Almost reflexively, Diana jumped off of her bed – the only thing separating the two of them – and took one great step back away. She tried not to notice that the door was on his half of the room; instead, she picked up a small black hard covered book from the side table beside the bed and hurled it at his head.

To her surprise, the book sailed right past him and made contact with the white wall that was behind him. She glanced at it as it landed on the carpet. How had she missed? She was sure that her throw was aimed directly to hit the boy. But there was no denying it – she had hit the wall, not the boy. She groaned her disappointment.

Jack looked at her, then to the book, than back at her, his lips curling in amusement. He bent down slowly and retrieved the book. Placing it securely inside his dusty vest, he laughed, "Ah, c'mon, Diana. Is that anyway to treat a guest?"

* * *

Author's Note: _Sorry about that guys. I know that I promised a chapter every Sunday but this Sunday actually was my last day at work. I worked 6 ½ years with the Musicland/Sam Goody chain and – as some of you may know – they filed for Chapter 11 in January and announced they were liquidating 400+ stores. My store completed it's liquidation on Sunday and I spent the entire day there. I also hadn't had a day off since Easter so (coupled with exams and papers due at college) I hadn't had the next chapter done yet. I was still upset over losing my job on Monday so I didn't start the next chapter until yesterday. And, here it is. Woot._


	5. V

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

_

* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

April 30, 2006

* * *

PART FIVE

* * *

Understandably, at this point, Diana was beginning to get a little worried and, despite herself, quite a bit more curious. _Alright, a lot more curious… what is going on here?_ "Who…_what_…are you?" she demanded, her hands on her hips. She was not playing around with him.

The smirk he wore melted into a condescending, though somewhat playful, expression. "C'mon now, kid. Haven't you figured it out yet?" Jack had waited too long to meet the last of the Daite girls; he was going to have as much fun with this encounter as he could. After all, this was his last chance. He was well aware that his time was almost spent and he knew all too well, after a damn century, just how fast two months could go.

_Uh… no? _Diana shook her head. For some reason, all words failed her at that moment; she could not speak.

He sighed, almost exaggeratingly so, before making a great display of snapping his fingers. With a faint _pop,_ he was gone. Diana had barely enough time to register what it was she had seen – all she did was gasp audibly – before he was back. His lips curved. "Now do you get it?"

She still did not answer. This time she was too much in awe to do so.

Jack shook his head. He always hoped that the next girl would be quicker than the last but it never happened that way. Each time he had been compelled to tell the entire story before they would even believe he existed, let alone agree to help him.

He crossed his arms and looked at the girl. She seemed more of a fighter than her predecessors; it might just do him well to receive her aid. As it was, he was getting desperate. At this point, he would gladly accept Kloppman's help if the old man was allowed to actually do anything but tend to this old building. "I guess you need me to fill you in, eh, kid? I mean, I've already wasted too much time, waiting for you to finally get here and give me your help."

She seemed to find her voice at last. "Excuse me? _My_ help?"

He nodded. "Yeah, _your_ help. I don't know, something about you Daite girls, you've got to be the one to help me. I don't understand it much myself but hey, who am I to go up against the Devil?"

Her eyes widened as the shaky confidence she had garnered after retreating to the bedroom faltered, and she wondered just how fast this guy was. _He's kind of tall but not heavy enough for his size to be a problem_, she thought dejectedly_. I probably wouldn't be able to escape him in time to get Aunt Ria._ Her eyes darted to the door anyway. He _was _as unstable as she first thought him to be. _What the hell?_ _The Devil?_

Jack caught her gaze and shook his head. "Don't get no ideas, now. I already checked on them. Your aunt and her butler have gone to their rooms. They can't hear or see me at all but, just in case, I made sure that no one could overhear nothing that happens in this room when I'm in it." He chuckled, obviously pleased with himself. "Actually, I did that about fifty years back when Les caught Étaín talking to nobody. It was better to set the quiet up than let good ol' Les think that his kid was mad."

_Les, that's it_. That was the name of the Jewish man who had married her great-grandmother. He was her mother's grandfather, Les Jacobs. And Étaín – her grandmother… Diana put a stop to her useless planning of escaping the room. Regardless of who (or what) this boy was, he knew way too much about her family and she wanted to know why.

Jack, however, did not give her a chance. Before she had even had the opportunity to fire off a round of her own questions – her curiosity was quickly overshadowing any other emotions – he had started to speak again.

"Listen up, kid. You want to know what's going on? I'll tell you." He sniffed once and, with the air of one who had a great deal to tell, he began, "Almost a century ago, back in 1899, something happened to the girl I lov— to a girl I cared about. Someone did her in… she died in this very building. I tried my hardest to figure out what happened. Why she died… who did it… you know? But I couldn't do it. No one knew anything and, if they did, they weren't talkin'. No help at all."

He paused and Diana noticed that his hands were slightly shaking, minute trembles brought on by some sort of distress. Jack saw where her green eyes were focused and quickly shoved his hands into his front pockets. He continued, "And, yeah… I know what you're wondering. 1899… 1999… Impossible, huh? Well, not really. I'm dead. Been dead for years. But I'm still here."

Jack snorted and the noise was nowhere near the amused sound she had heard come from him earlier; instead, it was the sound of a man looking back regrettably on the gravest mistake of his life.

"To make it simple," he said – and Diana could not help but mentally add: _Too late_ – "I made a deal with the Devil. I got a hundred years to figure out what happened to her. He got my life then and, if I fail, he gets my soul at the end. Now, call me stupid, but I just didn't get that, by him taking my life, I would be dead… a damn ghost, really. And, I'll tell you this, it's hard to get people to talk when they can't see you or hear you, either. But I got lucky. I don't know how but your family got tied to my search. Every generation or so, I get the help of one of you Daite girls—"

"Mason," interrupted Diana.

"Huh?" He looked confused and a bit annoyed. He obviously was not used to being interrupted in the middle of his _tragic_ tale.

She did not care. If he was going to barge into her room and feed her all of this supernatural baloney, the least he could do was bother to get her name right. "I said my name is Diana _Mason_."

Jack raised one of his eyebrows. "Yeah, well, I met your great-grandmother first and she was Rhiannon Daite. You're a Daite to me." When he had assumed that Diana would be more of a fighter than any of the other Daite girl, he was right. Though she was the spitting image of Rhiannon, he could tell that the two girls were nothing alike. Well, accept for the whole running from him the first moment they met. But, at least the fourth generation girl had not fled into the sanctuary of the building, hollering about not being mad. And, though she_ had_ initially run from him – and, really, he had not been surprised – she was currently speaking quite rationally to him. Things were definitely beginning to look up.

She shrugged, the universal sign that a teenager was giving in. "Whatever."

Jack shook his head. He was eternally eighteen and he knew that he never acted as rude as this girl was acting now. "Yeah, anyway, I ain't too fond of that myself,"– an out and out lie – "but it's got to be one of you Daite girls that helps me. Sorry."

"I'm sure you are," the girl muttered under her breath. In the back of her mind, she remembered the story that the butler had told her; it interested her that much of what this boy – _ghost? – _was saying paralleled the old man's story but she decided not to mention it. She was not about to buy any of what this boy was saying and, apart from egging him on, if she acknowledged the old legend, it would make it much easier to believe all of that as truth.

Tryinga different tact, she said,"So, what is it I'm supposed to do? I mean, _if_ I decide to help you on this quest thing of yours?" She thought that it might be best if she humored him. As it was, she still was not sure if he was a ghost, as he claimed, or just some deranged magician. _It would explain the disappearing trick_, she mused. _And, if he knew hypnosis, he could probably implant such a memory, like the one about Rhiannon, into my head_. She was trying extremely hard to fool herself; it was either that or admit that ghosts and curses really did exist. And a Devil's curse? She had never been that gullible, not even when she had been six years old and believed that she was going to go live with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the sewers of Manhattan.

"Now, hold on there, kid," he replied, removing one of his hands from his pocket in order to lift it up and gesture for her to pause, "I… uh… I think that's too much information for one night." For a second, he appeared taken aback at her sudden interest in helping him but he quickly swapped his confused expression for one of control. "You can imagine that, even after one hundred years, it ain't a favorite topic of mine." Running that same hand through his shaggy hair, Jack grinned cheekily – and quite charmingly, Diana had to admit – over at her. "So, tell me this… _Diana_," he said, over accenting her name; she rolled her eyes, _"_You gonna help me?"

Despite his condescending tone, it was obvious that he was concerned that she would decline. He seemed very eager for her help and who could blame him? _It must be pretty hard to get info on a murder that happened last century… especially when you're dead yourself… _

She shrugged again. "Why not?" she answered with a small, humorless smile. If she told him that she would agree, then maybe he would leave her alone and she could get some sleep. She was incredibly tired all of a sudden. Her smile stretched until it became a yawn, her eyelids went heavy, so heavy that it was a struggle keeping them open. It was all very strange but, at that moment, she did not think of it; the only thing on her mind was how good it would feel to hit the frilly light pink pillow on the wide bed.

Jack saw the yawn and pointed at her. "Get some sleep, kid. We'll start the search first thing tomorrow morning." He held up his hand and was just about to snap himself out of her room – or, at least, that's what she hoped he was going to do; she would not be able to sleep a wink if he was still hanging around – when she stopped him.

"Hey, wait." Her voice was thick but insistent.

He paused, lowering his arm slightly. She was much stronger than he had thought. She should have already been too far gone by then to be able to speak. "Yeah?"

She fought back another yawn. She really was tired. "What's your name?" Funny how he knew hers but he had not once offered his own.

That perpetually knowing smirk found its way back to his face. "Why don't you call me Jack? Jack Kelly, that is…"

And, with a wink of his mahogany-colored eye and a pointed snap of his dirt-stained fingers, the boy was gone. Then, with a second snap, louder than the first though she never heard it, Diana Mason was asleep.

* * *

_She was there, but she was not there. She could see everything but heard nothing. _

_There were flashes that passed before her very eyes and it took her a minute to realize that the scenes kept changing yet she remained. She never moved. _

_Once she understood this and, in all the logic awarded to a dreamer, accepted this assessment, she tried to make sense of the vignettes that she was currently spying. _

_The first one featured a young woman, younger than she was, though she seemed awful familiar. She did not have the opportunity to see the mystery girl's face but, somehow, she knew she knew her. And that girl was afraid. Her heart rate quickened and she felt for the girl. Another person had entered the scene, just out of her vision, and the air became much tenser. And then the scene changed. _

_The next scene was utter confusion. The young girl was hurt – she felt the searing, hot pain – and was scratching at an old wooden door while clutching her side. She watched as the door opened and the girl fell inside. A young man watched in horror as she went. And then the scene changed. _

_The girl was dying. She could almost taste the bitterness of death as an old man tried to clean the wound. The boy was not there but she could sense him. He was waiting on bated breath just outside, the light of the street lamp silhouetting him against the dark. He was waiting for good news that never came. And then the scene changed. _

_The old man – as familiar as the girl, and just as indiscernible – approached the young man outside. No sound was to be heard but she felt the strange pull deep inside. The girl had died. The boy was crushed. And then the scene changed. _

_Her head began to whirl at the pace of the changing scenes. _Flash. _The boy was holding a worn photograph, his head bowed over it. _Flash._ A group of boys sat in a bunkroom, discussing something serious. _Flash._ A simple grave with only a wooden cross as a marker._ Flash._ A second girl attempting to speak to the boy, who had no interest. _Flash._ The boy was crying, and trying hard to hide it. _Flash._ The boy was drinking from an unmarked flask. _Flash._ The old man was cradling a dead body to his chest. _Flash._ The boy was dead… _

* * *

Diana was still sleeping when a loud crash came from outside. Her eyes sprang open and she nearly jumped in her bed. She slipped out from under her pink blanket and went to the window. Just below her, a hot dog vendor had lost control of his cart and it wheeled into a car waiting at the curb.

She stepped away from the window and sat back down on her bed. The banging had stolen her from her rest and she knew she would not have been able to fall back asleep even if she tried. She yawned and turned her thoughts to the dream she had been in the middle of when she was awoken abruptly.

It had been no stranger than the one earlier in the night. During her first dream, she had believed that a boy – a ghost, really – needed her help in order to solve a century-old murder. He had tried to convince her that she was destined to do so; her family had been helping him since the birth of her great-grandmother, Rhiannon. She even had a side-dream where she was seeing her great-grandmother sit for an engagement portrait with a man that she was not supposed to have married.

But the second dream, the second dream was actually a continuation, in a way, of the first one. She had been a phantom herself, watching as a scene unfolded while not really being a part of it. The boy, Jack, he was in the second dream, too – as was a girl that seemed familiar. The details, unlike most dreams she had, were not fuzzy; they were like vivid snapshots into the past. _She was dying_, Diana remembered, _and he was so upset. And then he just seemed to give up._ At least, that's what she interpreted from the flashes of the past. She had only been privy to brief scenes but no sound. She could feel the emotions but had no idea if her intuition was right. _But it was only a dream. Does it matter, really?_

Diana's thoughts were interrupted by a faint tapping at her door. She was still lost in the vestiges of the dream and, for a moment, wondered if it could be the boy before remembering it had all been just a dream. _Besides, in my dream, he didn't bother knocking, did he? _She lazily pulled her long light brown curls, mussed by a night of tossing and turning, back and put them up with a hair tie before answering the knock. "Yes?"

"Diana, are you decent?" It was her aunt.

She glanced down at the clothes she had fallen asleep in. She must have been more tired than she had thought if she had not even bothered to change into her pajamas. But, then again, she did not even remember falling asleep – or, for that matter, unpacking her suitcases. She shook her head at her confusion. The long train ride must have just caused her to be all screwed up. "Yes, Aunt Ria, I'm dressed."

Ariadne Cearr opened the door and briskly strolled into the room. The older woman had already showered and dressed for the day. Her own curls, so like Diana's but with the hint of grey forming at the temples, were pulled back in a slick bun; she was wearing a dark and sleek pantsuit that helped personify her as the businesswoman she was. A warm smile stretched across her lush lips. "Did you sleep well, dear?"

"Yes, Aunt Ria," she answered, almost automatically. There was no reason to tell her aunt about her strange dreams. The woman would never believe her. _She _did not believe her. A ghost boy? A Devil's curse? _Please_. _It's just the result of listening to Mr. Kloppman's story, that's all._ And, after all, she promised she would not rat the poor old butler out.

"Good, good," her aunt answered, somewhat preoccupied. Her green eyes seemed to wander around the room quickly before settling back on her niece. "What are your plans today?" Ariadne felt somewhat at fault for leaving the girl alone but she needed to work. Her vacation would not be until mid-July – then she would have two weeks to spend with Diana.

Diana shrugged her shoulders. "I was thinking that I would try to get a little more sleep. I had a weird dream last night and then there was this crash this morning…" _Whoops_. _Didn't mean to let that slip. Oh well… _"Then I thought I would explore a bit."

Ariadne's eyes widened and opened her mouth to respond but decided better of it. _She probably wondered about the crash. It _was _loud. _"Okay, Diana. Get your rest. I should be home sometime after six and we'll have another dinner together. Until then, you can ask Kloppman for anything you need." When she saw Diana nod before sleepily closing her eyes again, Ariadne smiled again. "I'll call you around noon to check up on you. Have a nice time, dear."

The girl nodded and, opening one of her eyes, she watched as her aunt headed back out of the room, her heels clicking as she left. Ariadne was walking slower and Diana could see, by the way her head was swiveling this way and that, that she was looking around the room again. _She must have lost something._

Diana waited for her aunt to leave and shut the door behind her before crawling back under her oversized pink covers. She was about to fall back asleep when she heard a noise coming from within her bedroom. It sounded like harsh tap-tapping against her floor. Grumbling, Diana lifted the comforter from off of her head and turned to greet her aunt again.

But, when she turned to see who it was that had entered her room, it was not Ariadne. It was the ghost boy, Jack Kelly. He was standing at the foot of her bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his worn boot rapping against the carpeted floor. He caught her eye and smirked. "I ain't gonna stand here and wait for you all day," he said, a thick piece of his brown hair falling forward as he looked down on her in mild disapproval.

Diana did not respond. Instead, she just rolled over on her back.

_Damn. I guess it wasn't a dream after all. _

* * *

Author's Note: _I told you that I would have this back on schedule this week. I did get a little nervous, though. I had finished chapter eight of Demons in my Dreams on Thursday but FF . net decided to go down that day. I didn't want to post this until I posted Demons so, after I post it this morning, I started work on this chapter. I just couldn't start it during this weekend because I was annoyed I couldn't log in But, here it is. Amidst studying for all my exams this week, I posted this chapter. I must just love you all so much ;)_


	6. VI

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

_

* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

May 7, 2006

* * *

PART SIX

* * *

She remained on her back, refusing to even look over at the boy.

\_Maybe, if I ignore him, he'll just… go… away…_

It was a sound theory, one that Diana fervently believed in but, alas, it did not prove true for the girl. The annoying muffled sound of leather against shag carpet ended abruptly but the quiet did not last. No sooner had a sigh of relief crossed her lips before she heard the impatient tapping of his boot again.

Huffing, she sat up slowly, propping herself on her elbows, taking a minute to comfortable before turning to face him. "And what, may I ask, are _you_ doing here?" She was sincerely surprised at the level of spite that had found its way to her voice; she did not normally act so rude to people she just met. _Ah, but, if I believe what he told me yesterday, then he's not really a person… so it's alright_, she told herself, while glaring accusingly at Jack. Since her consciousness was still trying to convince her that all of this was some sort of bizarre dream – she was holding steadfast to her delusions, considering the truth was too strange for her to grasp just then – she could not figure out what he was doing there. Something perverted, no doubt. There was just something about him that she could not trust…

The obnoxious tapping stopped as an annoyed pout marred his handsome face. "Aw, c'mon Diana. You've got to be kidding me." His voice was higher than she remembered it from before; it was almost as if he was whining. "You promised me last night that you'd help me. Don't deny it."

"I'm not denying anything." Diana pulled the large pink blanket closer to her in an attempt to cover herself, entirely disregarding the fact that she was still wearing her clothes from the day before. He was still a boy – albeit a dead one – and he _was_ currently standing, uninvited, in her bedroom. _He should have a bit more decency than that,_ she thought with a hard look in his direction, _especially if he's the dead boy from Mr. Kloppman's story. I mean, weren't boys supposed to be all gentlemen-like back then? Jeez…_

His eyes narrowed and he looked at her pointedly. "Well, you know you promised so let's get goin' already." The whine was gone; there was a harsher quality to his voice now. Crossing his arms over his dusty vest, the ghost boy looked even more impatient than before.

"Why should I?" _Hmm… maybe, if I_ annoy_ him instead, he'll take the hint and leave me alone… _Ignoring him had not worked, after all.

Jack smirked, any sense of innocence or pity he was attempting to use in order to gain Diana's aid disappearing with a distinct curl of his lip. "Do you really want to mess with a ghost, kid?" It seemed as if he was trying out differing tactics as well.

_Or, then again, maybe not…_ _Thanks, Mom. __'Ghosts don't exist.'_ _Yeah, tell me another one…_

When she did not reply to his thinly veiled threat, Jack tried again. Using a compromise between pleading and demanding he said, "Listen, like I told you yesterday, I don't know why you Daite girls all got wrapped up in this, alright? But I do know that, right now, you're the only one that can see me or hear me. It's up to you to help me out, can you imagine? I only got two months left, Diana. Two months and then both me and her are gonna go to straight to the Devil. Do you want that? I don't mind about me… but what about her? She's the one I'm doing this for. I gotta find out who killed her," he added, taking a deep breath before lowering his head and letting slip a small frown, "and I need your help."

He looked so desperate that Diana knew that she would never be able to forgive herself if she did not at least _try_ to help him. _But, _she realized, _if he's lying to me… Hell would be _too_ good for him_.

Giving in, she started to climb out from beneath her covers. Jack, seeing that that third attempt had worked much better than the previous two, held out one of his hands to help her out of her bed. But, before he could get close enough to the girl, Diana pulled back away from him and, kicking her blankets off, exited the bed from the other side. "Let me take a shower first, okay? Then I'll come for a walk with you. And just a walk," she added, waving a finger at him. "You can explain all this to me as we go and then, if you're lucky, I'll help you."

If he was taken aback at the rude way she ignored his offer of help, Jack did not show it. Instead, he smoothly drew his hand back and turned around before walking over to the door, effectively blocking her from heading out to the bathroom. "Uh-uh. No. Diana. We have to go now. There'll be time for that later."

_Are you kidding me? No shower? _"Can I at least get changed then?" Diana asked, an edge coming to her voice. She may have agreed to help him the night before but she would be damned if she started her first real day in the City wearing the same clothes she wore yesterday.

He sighed, an exaggerated sigh that made Diana all the more aggravated at his presence, and nodded, taking on the airs of a martyr. "If you have to then fine, put some new clothes on. Then we'll go. There's a whole bunch of things you've gotta know before we actually get started."

_Oh, goody… _

_

* * *

_

The pair of them walked down the busy Manhattan street, neither saying a word to the other. Jack strode on ahead, leading the way, while absently puffing away on his ever present – or, so it seemed to Diana though she could not figure out just where he was getting them all from – cigarette. Briefly, as she trailed behind him, she wondered if any of the various passerby-ers on the street noticed the cloud of smoke that he was producing. Somehow, she doubted it; she had the feeling that the only one who knew it was there was her.  
And, with her head down and her green eyes looking anywhere but at the ghost boy who was a few paces in front of her, Diana was determined not to speak to him. Jack had mentioned that he was invisible to everyone but her and she knew that if she looked at him and started up a conversation, anybody on the street they encountered would think that she was insane.

_But… _am_ I insane?_ With no one that she could talk to, Diana spent the – in her opinion, already far too long – journey thinking to herself. _If it's not a dream, can it all just be from my imagination? _Am _I insane?_ She just could not accept that everything that this boy told her was the truth – at least, not without further proof than what he had provided her with so far. If her family _really_ had a legacy in trying to help a ghost boy find out who murdered his girlfriend one hundred years ago, then why hadn't she heard about it before?

He said that he knew her great-grandmother, Rhiannon, and her grandmother, Étaín, too. Did that mean that he knew her mother, too? Or her aunt, for that matter? She had so many questions that she wished she had thought of to ask earlier, when they were still in the sanctuary of the room. She was not going to dare trying to engage him in conversation where anyone might see her talking to no one and have her carted off to the nearest loony bin.

Sighing to herself, Diana knew she had to wait until they arrived wherever Jack was leading her. But, where were they going? She had tried to ask Jack that same question before she had followed him out of her aunt's penthouse – she was already thanking her lucky stars that Mr. Kloppman had not seen her on her way out; she could just imagine telling the old butler that his ghost story was coming true – but he had not answered her. And, yet, she followed him anyway. Over one cross street and up enough blocks that she had lost count – _I think I'm on Broadway now but who the hell knows? – _Diana followed an admitted ghost through the hectic New York City streets.

_Yup, I must be insane_…

So, in silence, the strange pair continued to weave their way throughout the crowded streets. She had tried to sightsee early on in their journey but Jack had called behind to her, telling her to hurry up. After that, she had been all the more certain that she would never speak to him again. But then she had come up with all the questions that needed answers…

She blew up at a stray curl that had fallen loose of her messy bun. To make matters even worse for the girl, Jack had not even allowed her to shower yet. "There'll be time for that later," he had told her right before he had tried to usher her out of her room. Not that she _really _minded all that much; she knew for sure that she would never be able to shower if he was lurking in her room. She was aware, thanks to his showing off earlier, that he could go invisible – what if he snuck a peek while she was dressing?

Sighing again, while hoping that he heard and interpreted her frustration correctly, she tried to match his quick pace. _Easy for him_, she thought, _he doesn't have to worry about bumping into people as he rushes by._ She glared at his back. _Stupid ghost_

Jack must have felt the fiery heat of her pissed off gaze because he paused and turned around. A pair of tourists, complete with cameras and matching "I Heart New York" t-shirts, walked right through him. He did not even flinch. "C'mon Diana, we're almost there."

Pretending that she did not hear his nagging, she turned her face away from him but, nonetheless, still continued to follow him. And, to give him credit, he was telling the truth – they only had to go three blocks further and make a quick turn down a side street before he paused again. "This is it," he said, patting the edge of a building. Using a dirty hand, he reached out and rubbed the brick fondly before noticing that Diana had stopped at the corner. He shook his head and turned towards her. "Well?"

Diana was ignoring him just then but it was not on purpose. She was confused. The wall that Jack was standing beside was nothing _but_ a simple brick wall – however, that was, in her mind, what was so confusing. There was no door, nor any windows and, even though she really had not paid attention to where Jack was leading her, she was pretty sure that the building this wall was attached to was a bank. _What are we doing here? I don't get it… _

He waited for a second, his hand still leaning against the coarse brick. When all the girl did was stare back at him, a dumbfounded look on her face, he took a few steps closer to her. He extended his hand, reaching for her hand but, before he could take it, she jerked it away – the trance brought on by her confusion was broken. He smirked. "You know, Diana, I wish you would stop doing that… I ain't gonna bite you."

A faint blush colored her cheek when she realized that, not only had she been frozen in place prior to his advancement towards her but, her flinching marked the third time that she had pulled away from his touch. "I'm not afraid of you," she announced and, as if she was trying to prove him wrong, she daringly stuck her hand out. And, with an annoyed shake of his head, Jack gently took her smaller hand in his.

All at once a strange sensation came over Diana. Her body shuddered slightly as a case of chills coursed down her back but, at the same time, she felt her face heat up. She glanced up at Jack, who was continuing to smirk at the way she reacted to him. "Hey, sorry about that," he said, though he did not look the least bit sorry. "It's been so long since I've dealt with any of you girls that I forgot you don't take too well to going invisible."

_Invisible?_ She glanced down to where she had last seen her hand but nothing was there. Jack was telling the truth; she could neither see him or herself now. By holding onto him when he turned invisible, the power applied to her as well. "Wow," she whispered under her breath, obviously amazed, but not wanting him to hear her being impressed by him. She could just tell that, given the opportunity, his ego could grow to abnormal proportions.

But, of course, he heard her whispered mutterings. "If you think that's neat, kid, wait for this," he boasted, a haughty tone evident in his voice.

Diana, in turn, understood the bragging and had to choke back an amused laugh. _I guess he likes to be complimented... _

Her thoughts were cut off, however, when Jack began to lead her down the side street, veering towards the brick wall that was to their right. He was pulling on her arm, trying to get her to face the wall directly. "Um… Jack? I think you've forgotten that I'm, uh, quite solid here," she said, digging her sneakered heels into the concrete in order to stop him from pulling her forward. He ignored her; instead, he just used more strength to keep her moving.

It was quite obvious that he was intending to lead her straight into that brick wall so, in preparation, Diana threw up her free hand in defense. _My hand will hit the wall first_, she reasoned, as she continued to drag her heels, _not my face._ But, because they were invisible, she could not see where Jack was and, therefore, could only gauge where she was by the ever-approaching brick wall; she was still afraid that she would not be able to protect herself anyway.

But, right when she was eye to eye, nose to nose, to the coarse brick, she felt herself being yanked right through it – no crash came, no scratches, no pain. Diana still closed her eyes instinctively – just in case – and did not open them until she heard Jack laughing. Slowly, she lifted one eyelid and, with a start, realized that they were no longer invisible. She also noticed that her hand was still being held by in Jack's; as if his touch burned, she yanked hers back.

Despite her annoyance at his showing off – and the snicker that followed when she took her hand back – Diana found herself equally impressed at her surroundings. Looking around so as not to make eye contact with the amused specter, the girl saw that she was inside a quaint room, complete with a cozy bed and stacks upon stacks of papers, photographs and newsprint sheaves. Logically, she was aware that this area should not, in all actuality, exist; the building that this wall was definitely attached to a large bank, with no free space with which to house a ghost boy's hideaway.

Yet, there the pair of them stood. Without looking at him, she asked him one question. "How?"

"I'm a ghost," he said simply, though he could not stop a small smile from coming to his face. "I can do a lot of things."

And, for some reason, those words chilled her even more than being in contact with him when they went invisible did.

* * *

Author's Note: _Woot_ _for another chapter! I wasn't sure that I was going to be able to crank any out this weekend; I had three exams this week and I still have one on Monday. Also, I spent yesterday in New York City (I have a lot more details to add to this now – and NYC still smells bad) going to David Blaine's "Drowned Alive" event. That was fun :) Yay for magic. Anywho, I did decide to put out a little more of this story. It's a little shorter than normal but I needed to get to this point before I continue. _


	7. VII

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

_

* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

May 14, 2006

* * *

PART SEVEN

* * *

Though the room was small, smaller than her bathroom back home, Diana found herself backing away from the boy. There was something about the way he was looking at her – leering, almost – that made Diana wonder how smart of her it was to follow a self-proclaimed ghost through a brick – a _brick_ – wall. She pointedly avoided his gaze, instead vaguely gesturing at his bed. "What's that over there?"

Jack glanced bemusedly over at his bed, a small boxy cot complete with a worn patch-worked quilt, and shrugged, his shoulders moving up and down with the simplicity of the motion. "There are some things that you miss being able to do when you're dead," he answered wistfully.

Diana's green eyes went from the bed to the sad expression he wore and back before automatically assuming the worst. "Oh, that's just sick," she snapped, trying to take another step back – with the result being that she bumped directly into the inner brick wall. It hurt. "Ouch."

He had to work hard at fighting back a laugh. "You're the one that's… what did you say? Sick? What I meant was that I missed sleeping, kid. Besides, it was your great-grandmother that got me that cot. Rhiannon said that my body was already lying down, so I might as well be able to let my spirit rest when I want it to, you know. Completely harmless."

Ignoring his patronizing tone, she glanced down at her elbow. She was wearing a short-sleeved pale yellow shirt and, when she had hurriedly backed into the brick, her arm had been exposed. There were three thin, red scratches running down the back of her arm and she rubbed at them. It stung and she focused on that pain rather than acknowledge the fact that her face was heating up; she was embarrassed that she had misinterpreted his comment. Diana tried to cover it up by asking him another question. "So, when you sleep on this bed, do you lay down? Or do you float?"

She was being a smart ass but Jack answered her as if she was being serious. "Depends. In case you haven't noticed, I can be as solid or as transparent as I want," he answered. "But only the girl that I'm working with can see me." Then, as if there was any way that she had forgotten, he added, "That's you."

Just then, Diana was reminded of the occasion when he had removed her luggage from the taxi's trunk – he had certainly been quite solid then, though it must have been an interesting sight, a suitcase removing itself from the trunk before floating over to rest at the side of the curb. And then, later that night, when she had tossed the book at him; she had been sure that she had aimed right at his head but the book had sailed right past (through) him. _He must have chosen to be transparent then_, she realized and rolled her eyes. "You know," she began, before heading over to sit on the bed. The room was cramped as it was and she thought that if she sat down, and her head was not just shy of hitting the ceiling, then maybe her slight case of claustrophobia would disappear, "It might have been more of a help to me if I knew that before."

He laughed and lifted his hands up in an innocent gesture. She did not buy that for a second. "It ain't my fault that you don't know nothing. You're the one who took so long to get here, not me."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered just as she made to sit down on his messy, unmade bed. She was on the verge of defending herself – after all, it was not her fault that her mother had not allowed her to come to New York to visit her aunt; though, now that she thought about it, it certainly made sense if they all knew about the boy – but, before she had, a strange yowl came from the bed. It was a high-pitched cry and it spooked the girl.

She jumped up in surprise, nearly hitting her head on the room's low ceiling. She spun around, her hand reaching for the quilt. Fingers snagged in the material but she gripped it and threw it to the floor – just as Jack began to laugh again. There, curled up cozily in the center of the cot, was a small cat with thick brown fur. Like a contortionist, her head was twisting over her shoulder as she glared at Diana. She made that sound again, almost as if she was berating the girl for trying to sit on top of her.

Feeling guilty, Diana stepped away from the bed, careful not to step on the strewn quilt, or any of the papers she had sent flying when she tossed the blanket, and pointed at the cat. "What the hell is that?"

Calming his laughter, Jack approached the feline. "Oh, her?" he asked, "This is Four."

Four seemed to like her master; at any rate, her eyes were closed lazily as she leaned into his hand. And, Diana was not sure if she was imagining it or not, but she thought she might have made out a faint purring sound coming from the furball. Jack looked pleased with himself. "There, Diana, you can sit down now. Just try not to sit on Four."

"Four?" Diana asked, taking great care to sit on the uttermost edge of the bed, the furthest away she could get from the cat without sitting on a pile of newspaper clippings. "What kind of name is that? And how did she get in here? Can she float through walls, too?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. She was just here one day, showed up during the long time that goes between helpers. Actually, it was in the time that passed when I was waiting for you," he added, pointedly glancing back over in her direction, his dark eyes amused. He was enjoying rubbing her face in her tardiness – even if the girl did not understand it, yet. "And I call her Four because she is number four. I've had three other cats since I've been tethered to this room."

She wanted to make sure that she got this right. "So, let me guess, you've had One, Two and Three before Four?"

He shrugged again, looking a bit defensive. "Sounded good at the time," he explained, "and, besides, when I got One, that was only a few years into being a ghost and I just called her 'Cat' – she became One later on when I found Two. I hadn't even met Rhiannon yet when One came along, and my creativity was a little rusty. It took me the better part of those years in just figuring out how to _be_ a ghost, you know."

Diana nodded absently, not really listening to Jack anymore. Four, after climbing to her feet and nimbly stretching her back, had stalked over to the edge of the cot and, with the air of one doing a great favor, presented herself within petting reach of Diana's left hand. Never one to resist the allure of a cute animal, the girl automatically stuck out her hand before beginning to stroke the soft fur…

**_

* * *

_**

_"And that's what Osc—wait a moment… Jessa? Hey… are you even listening to me?" _

_It took Diana a second before she realized that she was no longer in Jack's hideaway – another second later and she figured out that someone was currently talking to her. Even though they were calling her a name that was not 'Diana', this girl that was standing, hands crossed over her bosom, in front of her was definitely addressing her. _At least she's not calling me Rhiannon_, Diana thought before attempting a friendly, if somewhat confused, smile. "Of course I am…" she replied, even though, quite honestly, she had no idea what the other girl had been saying, or what she should even call her. She widened her smile, hoping an innocent look would spare her. _

_It did not. The girl just sighed. "Liar." _

_She was a stranger to Diana – a short, plain, wispy kind of girl. Her skin was pale with only the odd freckle dotting her nose and she had bushy brown hair that was tied back at the nape of her long neck. But, as she shook her head knowingly and stared in mild disappointment at Diana, Diana was able to see that her eyes were very far from being plain. Those piercing eyes were a mix of colors that resulted in a gorgeous tint of bluish-green. _

_There was a few seconds of awkward silence before the girl momentarily closed her eyes. "Oh, Jessa…" she said, once again using that strange name to refer to Diana. Her thin lips struggled not to curve upwards as she continued to shake her head. The girl knew damn well that Diana had not been paying any attention to her. _

_In an attempt to ignore her unknown companions (justified) suspicions and accusations, Diana, rather than meet those strange eyes, chose to keep her attention on what the girl looked like. She was wearing a brown, flowing skirt and a beige blouse that hung on her slim frame; a starched white apron covered her front. The style was definitely, to Diana's modern mind, vintage and she wondered just _when _she was. Not to mention, _where _she was. But, at least she understood one thing: _I'm in another one of those strange vision things. Damn…

_Taking her green eyes off of this girl, Diana swiveled her head, glancing over her shoulder. There were small tables, filled with uninterested diners, all around her and, when she sniffed, she smelled something very similar to the mystery meat they served back at St. Helena's. She was, most definitely, standing in an old restaurant. _Crap. I'm seeing what happened in the past again. But_, she added, taking the opportunity to glance down at herself, _I'm not just _seeing _what happened… I'm a part of it!

_Her head resting on her neck, she all but ogled herself. The body she saw closely resembled her own but there were differences, least of all the clothing it was wearing. Instead of the denim jeans and the yellow t-shirt she had been wearing in 1999, this figure was dressed in a dated skirt and blouse set, much like the girl standing before her. Her chin felt something underneath it and, lifting her head back up before letting her fingers fly to her throat, Diana found that she was currently wearing some sort of simple necklace. Still confused, she let her fingers continue upward until they found themselves tangled in a mess of thick, knotty, curly hair. _

_Diana nodded and dropped her hand to her side as she finally understood what must have happened. She had been closer to the truth when she had assumed that she was a part of the past than she had though except, rather than being a mere spectator, she was an unwilling participant. _That's why she keeps calling me that weird name, she really thinks that I'm this Jessa person. Hell, I'm beginning to think that I'm this Jessa person. What is going on here?

_T__here must have been a look of panic that crossed her face at that realization because the girl opposite her lost that annoyed expression. Instead, her face softened as she reached her hand out to pat Diana's shoulder. She was hesitant, though, and her hand just hung in the air, with an inch buffer between her hand and Diana's arm. "Jessa, are you alright?" _

_Chuckling weakly and letting her fingers disentangle from the wild curls, Diana answered with, "I guess…" before pausing and shaking her head. Right then, she was anything but all right – she had, somehow, found herself in the past, in a body that was not her own. Plus, she had no idea as to how to get back, and she doubted that clicking her heels together three times would do the trick. She was, most definitely, _not _all right. _

_So, not having anything else to say – and telling this girl that she was Diana Mason, from the future, did not sound all that promising – Diana decided to tell her something that (kind of, sort of) resembled the truth. "Actually, no. Sorry, but I didn't hear anything you said before and now… now I have no clue to what the hell is going on." _

_The girl looked relieved as she took her hand back without ever making contact with Diana's arm. The relief was momentary, however, and she used that hand to cover her mouth in surprise. "Why, Jess, such language from a lady," she gasped, speaking through her fingers. Diana's heart froze and, for a second, thought that her cover was blown – that she had inadvertently shown that she was not Jessa. But this stranger could not keep the smile hidden behind her hand for long and, as her strange eyes twinkled, she lowered her hand, revealing obvious amusement. "Tell me now, is that Jack Kelly teachin' you to swear like a sailor?" _

Jack Kelly._ Things made a little more sense to Diana once his name was mentioned. _I guess things really do seem to revolve around that idiot_, Diana thought, annoyed; after all, if it was not for him, she would not be in this mess. _He's going to make me insane yet! _Grumbling to herself, she decided that, perhaps, she could use this inconvenience to her advantage. This girl, whoever she was, knew Jack – maybe she could tell Diana all about him. "He might… but why would he want to do that?" she asked, trying to sound as off-handed as possible. _

_However, it seemed as if luck was not on her side – not as if she had not known that already. First she had been thrown into a conversation without any knowledge of what that girl had been going on about and now… just as she thought that she might got some sort of information on the ghost boy, a brash, loud voice broke up their meeting. _

_"Honor? Where you at, child? I've got pots that have got to be washed and these potatoes ain't gonna peel themselves. Tell Stress what you need to tell her and get back in the kitchen." _

_This girl – Honor – smiled sheepishly at Diana. Jerking her thumb over her shoulder, she gestured at a large door that Diana was only just noticing; it had the word 'KITCHEN' etched across the top. _I guess she works here…_ "I'm sorry, Jessa, but we're going have to finish this later. You know how Mr. Tibby gets, eh?" She shook her head, still grinning. "Maybe then you'll listen to what I gotta say," she teased, reaching out to swat at Diana's arm. Just as the tips of Honor's fingers brushed against Diana's skin, Diana felt a jerk. The clanking of the diner around her vanished and her head began to spin. _

_The present was catching up to her… _

* * *

As if the soft fur had send a jolt of electricity down her fingertips, Diana hurriedly pulled her hand back, cradling it against her chest. The strange vision was still fading from her mind and she did not want to relive it by keeping in contact with its obvious cause. She quickly slid farther down to the utmost edge of the bed – she nearly fell off – before shaking her head in confusion; it felt heavy and almost clouded over.

His head cocked to the side, one brown eye nearly shut, the ghost boy was watching her. "Diana? You alright?" He was not used to watching one of the Daite girls lose it after petting his cat. Now, the photographs he understood; Rhiannon had fallen prey to that after he innocently showed her a picture of himself with his girl from when he was still alive. He had been using his collection of pictures – a collection that he had slyly added to over the course of the last century – to fill in each succeeding Daite girl with various details ever since.

But his cat? That was too odd, even for him.

His eyes still on the girl, Jack reached down and smoothly swept the feline up in his arms. Four began to purr contently while rubbing her muzzle against his forearm; the sweet sound made Diana feel like the cat was congratulating herself on a job well done.

Diana, finally realizing that he had asked her a question, pointed to the cat. "Yeah, but… she—I mean, the cat… and I…" She knew she was mumbling incoherently but, right then, words were failing her; she did not know how to put what she was feeling into speech. That vision had been quite different from the one she had had about her great-grandmother. When she had envisioned Rhiannon Daite sitting on her stool, waiting for her engagement portrait to be taken, she felt as if she had been simply a spectator. It was a scene that had played out once before and nothing more could happen in that brief vignette.

But that… that was so very different. She had been there; she had been one of the people. And the cat… She did not know how she knew but Diana was quickly beginning to understand that Four was not just a cat, she was more than that. Her soul, Diana believed, was that of a woman – that woman. Honor. She was there, too… and she had been trying to tell Diana something.

_I think I know what she's trying to say, too…_

She took a deep breath. It was one thing to know that her destiny was entwined with a boy that had killed himself almost one hundred years ago, and it was another to understand that she had to devote her summer to helping him solve a murder that happened just as long ago. She was even accepting the fact that he could pop in and out of a room, go invisible on a whim and be as solid or intangible as he wanted, depending on his mood. But a cat that had once been a young woman? A second deep breath, then a third, followed. _I really am going insane!_

Either unaware of, or unbothered by, her confused state and lack of understandable answer, Jack stood beside the cot, calmly scratching Four's chin. The brown cat continued to purr but there was no doubt about where her attention was – an intense pair of bluish-green cats' eyes followed Diana. As possible as it was, the animal was waiting for the girl to gather her wits and speak.

Diana met those eerie eyes and visibly jumped. They were damn near identical to the pair she had stared into when she was there and, again, she had the strong suspicion that there was much more to this cat than met the eye. Her stomach lurched and, as she shut her eyes, the image of that Honor girl flashed through her muddled mind.

_What the hell is going on here? I touched this cat and poof! I'm someone different, talking to some girl who, in a really weird, hard to believe way, reminds me of this cat… I mean… it couldn't possibly be… Four? Honor? Could it? _

There was only one way to find out. Opening her eyes, she sought out Jack's mildly interested face. "Jack? Who was Honor?"

The interest turned to confusion before settling on suspicion. He opened his mouth to respond but, before he could say anything, a high-pitched yowl cut through the small room. Four was alert in Jack's hold, yowling at Diana. She did not sound upset, as she had when Diana very nearly sat on her, but, rather, joyous. Jack rubbed her head affectionately, in an attempt to calm her, before looking over at the girl. "What do you mean by Honor, kid?"

For some reason, she had known that Jack would not be all too forthcoming with information on Honor. She sighed as she tried to explain. "I just… met someone with that name," she said, sounding very uncertain. _What do you call it when you encountered someone in an odd sort of vision, anyways? _"You see, I was in some tiny, little diner and I was talking to this girl. Someone called her Honor, but not before she mentioned Jack Kelly. If that's you, then that means you know her. Who was she?"

With his free hand, Jack ran his dirty hand through his shaggy hair. "Honor, you say? In a diner?" He paused for a moment before recognition dawned on him. "Did she have bushy brown hair? Dressed like she belonged in the kitchen?" When Diana nodded twice, Jack grinned. "Yeah, I kno—knew her. Honor. Honor Williams. She was a friend of mine, back when I was alive. I actually met her down at that diner, Tibby's. Good kid." He paused in his reminiscing long enough to swap his grin for that familiar look of suspicion. "Why?"

Diana wondered, for a moment, how smart it would be to tell Jack that she thought his old friend was now masquerading as his cat. She entertained the idea for a second before deciding against it. It was bad enough that she was convinced that she was nuts. How bad would it be if her own hallucination – she was still partly convinced that Jack was only a figment of her imagination – thought that she was crazy, too?

That did not mean, however, that she was not going to try to get more information out of the ghost boy. Just in case. "Is that all you know about her, Jack? That she worked in a diner?"

Jack made a great display of thinking over her question before nodding to himself. He lowered the cat to the floor before heading over to a particular stack of newspaper and newspaper cut-outs – one of many – that were stowed in the left corner opposite of his bed. While Four scampered over to Diana – where the girl twitched away in order to avoid the brush of the cat's soft fur – the ghost boy picked up a handful of clippings. Muttering to himself, he began to leaf through them.

Diana could not go move any further away from the cat. Four kept following her, intent on rubbing up against her bare ankles. But, surprisingly, when Four finally made contact with the girl, meowing softly as she did so, Diana did not fall back into another vision. She sighed in relief.

_Maybe_, she thought, as she allowed herself to bend slightly so that she could stroke Four's ears, _it's not _my_ doing but hers instead. Maybe I fall into the past because someone else wants me too, not because I'm a weirdo… _In a way, that idea calmed her; she had been beginning to wonder if she would ever be able to look at a photograph of her family again without seeing them in her mind.

While Diana was busy with Four, first avoiding her, then patting her, Jack continued to look through his clippings. Finally, with a grin, he plucked one article out before placing the rest on top of the pile. It was old – slightly yellow and partly brittle – but definitely not as old as some of the other papers he had lying about. He straightened it out, taking great care so as not to tear it, before reading it out loud to the girl: "'July 17, 1981. Honor Williams, 96. Miss Williams passed away on Tuesday, July 14, of natural causes relating to old age. Miss Williams, a longtime resident of Manhattan, was born in 1884 an'—" Jack stopped his dramatic reading of the paper when he caught Diana staring incredulously at him. "What now?"

Her face had gone as white as chalk, her green eyes wide. She slowly removed her hand from Four's fur as she lifted her head. Four meowed pitifully but Diana ignored her; her attention was solely on Jack. "Hold on. Were you just reading me Honor Williams' _obituary_?"

Jack shrugged, not understanding why Diana's demeanor had changed so suddenly. "Yeah." He waved his hand around the stacks of papers he kept in his room. "I kept tabs on all the people I knew when I was alive. Honor, well, she was the last one to go. She was old, too, I remember. Girl made it almost to a hundred," he said proudly, waving the article around.

Diana nodded, but her face still looked flushed. "Okay," she said, and Jack thought he could detect a waver in her voice, "but, um, I thought I… you know… heard you say that she died on July 14, 1981." She chuckled weakly. "But I was wrong, right?"

He lifted the obituary up and quickly scanned it. "'…passed away on Tuesday, July 14…' No, you were right. July 14th, that's what this says. Why?"

_I was afraid that he'd say that… _"Because," Diana began, her earlier feeling of discomfort at Jack's touch dwarfed at this new sensation, "that's _my _birthday. Jack, your ca—friend died the exact day I was born."

* * *

Author's Note: _I'm sorry about the delay in this chapter. It was totally done Sunday, early afternoon, but then my document manager was being a butt and wouldn't let me upload the next chapter. But here it is now -_ _I know, you all love me oh-so-very much. Well, at least you will until you read this chapter and get all the more confused with what the hell is happening in this story. I just love to mess with people's heads - you'll never expect what's gonna happen. And you gotta love that._


	8. VIII

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

_

* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

May 21, 2006

* * *

PART EIGHT

* * *

Jack looked back at the obituary as if Diana's revelation meant nothing to him. "Oh." He shrugged and placed the clipping back onto the pile he drew it from. He steadied the stack and, when he was sure the papers would not fall, he looked at Diana. His face was expressionless.

Four mewed and rubbed up against Diana's bare thigh. The girl nearly jumped at the contact before she remembered that the soft fur belonged to a cat – if, of course, that was all Four was. The coincidences were getting to be too many and too weird for her.

"'Oh'? Is that all you have to say? Yeah, uh, I'm sorry if I'm not as used to all this ghost-type stuff as you are," she said, her voice lifting up as she waved her hands around, "but don't you think it's odd that I was born the same day that your cat died?" She was staring unbelievably at him now. The way he was unreadable, coupled with her own unease, made her want to get as far away as possible but her pride kept her in place. And, besides, how do you leave a ghost's abode that, by all means, should not exist?

Jack, if he was aware of her discomfort, ignored it. He walked over and picked Four up from the bed, stroking her head softly until she began to purr contently again. "You weren't born the same day that my cat died, Diana," he said matter-of-factly, "because here she is. You happened to be born the same day that _Honor Williams_ died."

Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. She did not feel like explaining exactly why she felt that the soul of that woman, that Honor, was residing inside the soul of his brown cat – especially since she was not all that sure herself how she knew.

Instead, she focused on the way he was speaking to her. It was almost as if he knew all this before she told him and she accused him as much. "Why aren't you surprised, Jack?" She narrowed her green eyes at him. "Did you know about that already?"

He smirked, purposely hiding his face within Four's coat when he realized that the girl could see his telling expression. "Maybe."

His answer surprised her and, for a second, she did not know what to say. She had been expecting him to deny everything; after all, he had not been too forthcoming with knowledge apart from what was required of her just by being related to Rhiannon Daite.

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I kinda knew about that."

"Okay. How?"

He shook his head and placed Four onto the floor of the room. She meowed once before slinking away towards the end of the bed. She continued on until she had walked underneath Jack's messy bed. All that could be seen of the cat was her long, brown, bushy tail.

"I didn't think it meant nothin', Di—"

"How? Jack?" She crossed her arms across her plain white t-shirt, obviously annoyed. It was also obvious that she was not going to just gloss over this coincidence. She wanted answers and she was determined that the ghost was going to give them to her.

He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture, palms outward and eyes wide. "Hey, calm down, Diana. It's simple, alright? I knew what day Honor Williams died," he said, pointing with one hand towards the pile of papers where he had just replaced the obituary clipping, "and I know what day you were born. It's just a coincidence that they happened to be the same day. That's it. No need to get your knickers in a knot."

She ignored his last comment, focusing instead on his previous statement. "And how, exactly, do you know when I was born?" If there was one thing that could be said about Diana, and he was quickly learning this, it was that she _always_ needed answers.

Jack shrugged. "How do you think I know? I gotta keep tabs on all you Daite girls. Considering that's the day that she gets the sight, it kinda helps to know when her—_your_—birthday is."

"But—"

"Trust me," he said, fixing his face with an overly rakish grin, effectively cutting her off. Diana rolled her eyes again, while scoffing at this choice of words; she did not think she could ever learn to trust the ghost boy.

Whether on purpose or not, Jack always seemed to know much more than he let on and that was very quickly beginning to bug her.

Ignoring her, "It's all just a big coincidence, kid. And no more questions," he added, lifting a finger to silence her when he saw her open her mouth, "We got work to do and we won't get it done if I'm answerin' foolish questions all day."

Diana narrowed her eyes in disapproval while nodding half-heartedly in response to his new rule. She did not, for one second, believe that this was all some grand coincidence. Then again, it might have been more believable if she did not get the impression that Honor Williams was now a cat.

She closed her eyes and imagined the wispy girl with the pretty eyes. The sight was a lot less vivid than her earlier dreams but she could still recall various details: the dumpy diner, the clanking silverware, the misspelled "KICHEN" sign.

However, when she began to probe herself to remember more, to remember what exactly that Honor girl looked like, all she could see were the bluish-green eyes staring back at her. _It's the damn eyes_, she thought, _but that doesn't mean that Honor is now Four, does it? I mean, maybe Jack just has one weird ass cat… yeah. That's got to be it. _Satisfied that she had figured it out, Diana shook her head and opened her eyes.

And promptly jumped back out of mild fright.

_Jack! _

In the brief time that she had spent with her eyes shut, Jack had drawn Four out from her hiding place under the cot and lifted her up so that she was eye to eye with the girl.

His ploy to frighten Diana had worked perfectly; after imagining the piercing eyes of both the girl and the cat, it was quite startling to open her own only to find that she was staring into those same piercing eyes. Now, more than ever, she was convinced that those were not animal eyes. And she was convinced that Jack Kelly was a jerk.

Jack was highly amused at her expression but was just a little disappointed that she did not yell out in surprise. With a smile playing out across his lips, he placed Four back onto the floor, just in case Diana got the urge to push the cat away. He could see the annoyance as plainly as if it were written out on her face; she was extremely wary of Four and extremely annoyed with him.

"What's the matter, Diana?" he asked innocently though his brown eyes gave away his true feelings of amusement.

She decided right then and there that she was not going to tell Jack about her suspicions until she had proof. Alive or dead, she was not going to let this boy have something to hold over her if it turned out that she was just imagining everything.

Diana opened her mouth to tell him to back off when she felt a slight vibration coming out from underneath her. A second later she heard the opening bars of her ring tone, a synthetic rendering of 'Happy Birthday'. Four heard the noise and quickly scampered back under the bed, her tail completely hidden from sight this time.

Ignoring the way Jack's eyebrow had quirked, Diana worked her mobile phone out of its place in her right hand pocket. When she had gotten the phone out, she pressed the green 'send' key.

"Uh, hello?" she answered, curious as to who had her number. Her mother had given Diana the phone as a graduation present; it was quickly becoming a trend in her neighborhood for all the incoming college students to carry one of the chic new Nokia phones around and Arianrhod Mason felt her daughter should be kept up to date with the latest fads.

She had insisted that Diana bring her mobile phone with her everywhere she went during her stay in the City while, at the same time, promising that she would not check up on her more frequently than was necessary. So, if it was not her mother, then who was it? She had not had the phone long enough to give the number to all of her friends. And that quick glance at the cell phone's screen proved that the caller's number was unrecognizable.

"Diana, dear? Is that you?"

The voice, however, was not. Diana rolled her eyes. The caller was none other than her Aunt Ria. _When she said she would call me around noon_, Diana mused, _I thought that she would call me at the apartment. How the hell did she get my number? Oh, wait… Mom. Gotcha… _"Yes. Yes, it's me. Hi, Aunt Ria. What's up?"

"It's just about noon, now, and I thought I'd check up on you but when I called Kloppman at the apartment he said that you had left early this morning and hadn't returned for lunch yet. Is everything alright, Diana?" Diana could hear the concern in her aunt's voice and almost felt bad about keeping this from her. _Almost_. What would her aunt say if she told her that she was out with a spirit?

"I'm fine, Aunt Ria. I've just been, uh, out exploring. Yeah, exploring. I mean, after that vendor cart crash woke my butt up, I wasn't able to get back to sleep."

She could almost hear her aunt let out a sigh of relief. "That's so good to hear, dear. I was getting a little nervous that something might have happened to you—you never know what kind of people you might meet in the City," she added and Diana could not help but agree. Her proof was hovering over her at that moment, trying to listen in on the conversation.

"No, it's okay. You don't have to worry about me," Diana said before shooting Jack a look that said 'go away' (not that he really had anywhere to go). He was obviously listening to her end of the conversation and was making faces after every answer Diana gave.

"Good, dear. Your mother would have my head if I let you just run around all wild. God forbid you got hurt."

"Uh-huh… I understand what you mean, but don't worry about me. I'm not doing anything bad… just walking around the city and taking photographs," Diana improvised before pushing at Jack.

He was currently laughing at her and, for the moment, she forgot that no one could hear him but her. She also forgot that he could go transparent when he wished to and, when she tried to push against his leg, her arm went through him. She had not been expecting that and the force of her attempted shove nearly caused her to fall off of her perch on his bed.

She did, however, lose her balance. And, in her haste to keep from falling, she reached for the bed's edge and dropped her phone.

Ignoring Jack's snide laugh, she hurriedly picked it up and put it to her ear, just in time to hear her aunt's next series of questions.

"Diana, are you _sure_ that everything is alright? What was that?" Ariadne's voice took on a suspicious tone and Diana did not blame her. She knew she was acting extremely suspicious but… what could she do?

Well, she could glare at Jack – so she did. "It was nothing, Aunt Ria. I, um, I just bumped into some _idiot,_" she said, pointedly emphasizing the word, "on the street and my phone fell. Some people, you know?"

Jack, from his place above her, just stuck out his tongue.

"Oh. Well, just make sure that you're careful, my dear." There was a pause. "Are you sure that everything's alright?"

"Yes, Aunt Ria," she replied automatically, while rolling her eyes for the second time. _Why won't she let me off the phone? I wonder if she's one of the reasons Mom is _always _on the phone. Sheesh…_ "I'll see you for dinner tonight, alright?"

"Good girl," Ariadne answered, and Diana could tell from her voice that she was not buying a word of what her niece had said. "I guess I'll see you tonight, then. Have fun, sweetie. And take care."

"Uh-huh. Bye," Diana said before quickly removing the cell phone from her ear. She pressed the red symbol on the keypad, effectively ending the conversation. She slipped the bulky blue Nokia phone into the side pocket of her denim shorts. The interruption of the phone call, as well as Jack's annoying actions during the length of the call, had created an awkward silence between them and she felt that she had to say something or she might try to push him – and fall – again.

"That was my aunt," she said needlessly. "Aunt Ariadne, Mom's sister. I'm staying with her this summer in her apartment."

When all he did was raise his eyebrows humorlessly once before letting a small frown escape, Diana decided dropped the subject. While she was a bit confused by his reaction, she was also slightly surprised to see that he showed no curiosity at her use of the mobile phone; he had been, she could see, much more entertained by the conversation itself, rather than the device.

_I guess_, she thought, _it makes sense. He may be invisible to the world and all but he still got to see a century's worth of inventions. That's so crazy! _

So, instead of curiosity being expressed on his face, she saw that he looked sad, lost almost; his earlier laughter had all but disappeared. The emotion, so contrary to the annoyance, eagerness and smugness she had witnessed since meeting him the day before, seemed out of place on his weathered face.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice was the opposite of the one he used before. He sounded vaguely upset and Diana, for no good reason, began to feel guilty. "I know Ria."

Even before he finished his sentence, Diana knew that he was going to unload another bit of information that would bother her, so she decided to bring it up first. "Are you telling me that you knew my Aunt Ria?" she asked, even more suspicious than she had been before; but her suspicions were not necessarily targeted at the ghost boy.

What she was really trying to do was try to figure out just what reason he had to be so upset when Ariadne Cearr was mentioned – especially since this was the first time her name had been brought up.

And that was when it hit her. _Uck, I'm such a freaking moron,_ she chided herself when she saw Jack lower his eyes to avoid meeting her gaze; there was obviously more to this than he was willing to tell. _After listening to him go on and on about Rhiannon Daite and Étaín Jacobs, I never stopped to think about who was the third generation woman who was enlisted to help him. It was either Aunt Ria or Mom – well, I guess I know who it was now. Damn it, I am _so _dumb!_

Her intuitive notion that Ariadne Cearr was a subject that Jack did not want to discuss was proven true when he answered her question – and testily, too. "Yes, I knew Ria. And no, I ain't tellin' you about that." His voice was so authoritative that, for once, Diana did not want to question him. And, considering how many questions she had had since meeting him, that was saying something.

But just because she did not _want_ to question him, it did not mean that she _would not_. "Jack, wh—"

He was not budging. "Listen, kid, I said no and I meant it. Besides, we gotta get crackin'. I only got two months, you know." Jack mimicked her earlier pose, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked so stubborn just then that she knew it would be useless to try to argue.

However, Diana did make a mental note to ask her aunt about Jack at dinner that night. Until then she would have to make do trying to figure out how she was to solve a century-old murder in just less than two months. "Alright Jack," she said, her green eyes twinkling at the challenge. If she _had_ to get involved, she might as well enjoy it. "What do you got for me?"

* * *

Author's Note: _Woot. Another chapter of Diabo. Anywho, this chapter has stupid research in it. I almost forgot it was set in 1999 – the whole cell phone/mobile phone threw me for a loop for a bit. But it's believable now. Double woot. _


	9. IX

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

_

* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

May 28, 2006

* * *

PART NINE

* * *

For one of the first times since they met, Diana saw a genuine grin spread across Jack's face. "Now that's more like it," he quipped before lowering himself from his hovering place. Once his feet were firmly on the floor, he reached out for another stack of papers. This one was separate from all the others and different as well. Rather than just being piled haphazardly, this stack was neatly assembled, with a piece of brown twine keeping it together. It was much smaller than the other piles and, obviously, very important. The gentle way that he handled it showed her that.

He placed the packet down onto the bed, making sure that he straightened the quilt underneath it before he did so. Then, slowly, he knelt down beside the bed's edge; it did not go unnoticed by Diana that he chose to be on the ground rather than sit on the bed with her. Jack's fingers began to work at the knot that kept the papers together. But, before it became undone, Diana put her smaller hand on top of his.

To her relief, he chose to be solid at that moment; her hand rested soundly on top. He glanced up, and looked at her questioningly. "What are you doing, Diana?" He seemed somewhat uncomfortable at her touch. She tried not to notice.

Instead, Diana looked at him and then pointedly lowered her eyes so that they were resting on the papers that she knew were below their hands. "Just wait, Jack. If you show me any pictures, am I going to _see_ them?" She did not need to elaborate for him to understand what she meant.

Jack's eyes darted from hers to the papers and back. A tiny smirk crossed his face. "Aren't you just the smart one? You know, I used to get my kicks shovin' a picture under Rhiannon's nose just to see what would happen…"

Somehow that did not surprise her. _It must be so boring being a ghost_, she realized. She felt a surge of pity for the ghost boy. However, she left her hand firmly atop his. Even after one hundred years, she doubted he had changed enough to stop pulling such pranks. At least, from everything she learned about him just by listening to him speak, she could tell that he was still the age he had been when he died. _Yeah, and I wonder just how old he was. It's so weird to think that he was around one hundred—one _hundred!_—years ago. _

And that was not it - it had just occurred to her how little she knew about him; and, yet, there she was, faithfully following a fallen specter. _I must be crazy… _

"Hey, Jack? How old are you?" she asked impulsively, trying to think of anything that was not wondering when the men in white coats would be coming for her. The way she saw it, denial was everything. Besides, she might as well get some answers now before they continue (well, start out) on his "quest".

He seemed slightly taken aback by her question. "Why?" he shot back, sounding tense. He pulled his hands out from under hers and moved away from the bed. Without meeting her eyes, Jack began to pull on the ends of the red bandana he wore around his neck, fiddling with it nervously. "What's that got to do with anythin'?"

Diana placed her second hand on top of the papers so that the entire stack was hidden from her sight. She shrugged her shoulders, an action that seemed awkward considering she was leaning over the paper. "I… I don't know. It's just that… you seem to know so much about my family and stuff. I, well, I just figured I'd find out some stuff about you before we discuss what I gotta do to help you."

"Oh," he said, and she could that her explanation relaxed him considerably. Still on his knees, he scooted forward so that his hands were resting on the bedside. "You know, it's been so long, but you never forget that you gotta cover your own ass. You're never supposed to give out any personal information. Keep to yourself and you'll have a self to keep to. My pa used to say that before…"

"Before what?" This was the first time that she heard him mention anything about himself. He seemed much more prone to speak about her family; it was quite a shock to hear him bring up his own. She had not thought about that before. To her, Jack just seemed to always have been a ghost. It was strange to think of him being alive at some point, with a family and friends. _And a girl_, she remembered. _This whole thing started because of a girl_.

She made another mental note to bring up the girl later if he did not mention her before then. If she was going to figure out what happened to her in order to help Jack, she needed to know as much about her as possible. _Like a name, for instance._

Jack's expression seemed to darken; it was as if he had just realized what he had said and did not want to add more to it. "Never mind. Forget I brought it up."

There was a brief pause before he let out a short laugh. It sounded forced but, tactfully, Diana did not comment on it. "Now, when you say 'how old', do you mean now or do you mean then?"

_Well, at least he's willing to tell me about his age even if he doesn't want to talk about his dad…. _"Now, I guess."

He did not even stop to think. "I'm one seventeen." His smile came more naturally to his face this time. He found Diana's confused expression amusing.

"One seventeen? Like, one _hundred_ and seventeen years? How, exactly, are you _that_ old?"

Jack drew himself up from his knees and climbed on top of his bed, making sure that he was at the opposite end as Diana. "Simple. I was eighteen when I died, and that was in 1900. It's 1999 now. Ninety-nine years plus eighteen is one seventeen."

It struck Diana at that moment just how odd her summer was promising to be. _One seventeen?_ She turned her body, careful to keep her hands still on the papers, so that she was facing him. "But I thought that you were given one hundred years to do what ever you got to do?"

She found it even stranger that she was having this conversation. If someone had told her about this before she left home for Manhattan, she would have said they were crazy. _And maybe _that _is the reason why no one has ever mentioned this little family secret to me before. It's finally making _some _kind of sense…_

He nodded. "Yeah?" he said, though the way he drew out the syllable made it sound like he was asking it as a question. He was not too sure where Diana was going with this.

"Well then, what's all that about only having two months left? If it's only been ninety-nine years, you still got another year." _Does that mean I'm stuck with him for a year? How the hell did my ancestors do this? _

She paused a moment before she answered her own thought. _Obviously not that good or I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with!_ The more she dwelled on the subject, the more she was not sure she wanted to devote her summer to helping Jack. He had not proven himself to be worthy of her help – and he had lied about how much time he had. _Stupid ghost_.

Jack, oblivious to her inner argument as well as to her silent insult, just shook his head. "No, I still only got two months left. Put it this way—the Devil, he's got himself a sense of humor. When he said I got one hundred years, he meant to the day that she was killed. The year I spent alive counted towards the century he gave me. Generous of him, huh?"

"Oh," she answered, using a small voice. Then, because he had answered her questions completely before she had a chance to think up more, a silence followed. _He's still a stupid ghost_, she thought, annoyed all of a sudden. She realized that the reason she decided to ask Jack about himself at that moment was so he would not have a chance to tell her about the quest – or show her what was within his precious pile of papers. _He tried to trick me with these photographs._ She glanced down at her hands. If she was going to have visions again, she would never move her hands away.

Jack followed her green eyes and sighed when he saw that she still had not removed her hands from the stack. "Are you goin' to let me untie that knot anytime soon, kid? Time's a tickin' here."

Diana shook her head emphatically. Another one of her curls fell loose of her bun and rested right of her eye. "Not if I'll see _things _again, old man," she retorted, pouting her lips but still refusing to lift her hands.

He shook his head just as she had done but much slower. His was more a sign of disbelief than refusal. _Old man? _When he stopped, and before Diana could stop him, he leaned forward and brushed the curl out of her face before resting back on his side of the bed. "You're not like the other girls, Diana. They let me have my fun."

"Well, too bad," she shot back, a little harsher than she had intended. As uncomfortable as he had appeared earlier, she was sure she was ten times more vexed at his sudden touch. She moved backwards and, in her haste to put a little space between them, she lifted her hands off of the pile.

When she realized what she had done, her eyes automatically looked downward. It was almost like watching a car crash. Your brain tells you not to look but your eyes are drawn to the sight as if it were a magnet. She looked at the stack of papers and, just beneath the twine, made out a photograph.

Diana could hear Jack laughing near her and saying something like, "Ha, I'd knew that'd work", but she ignored him. She just could not tear her eyes from the picture. It was an older photo, older, if possible, than the one she had seen of Rhiannon Daite, and even better cared for.

Her fingers shot out and, before Jack could stop her, the knot was entirely undone. She reached for the top picture and brought it up to her eyes.

There were two girls in the photograph, both thin though the one on the left was a good five inches taller than her companion. The pair was sitting outside on a set of well-worn steps. They were both smiling; the way that the shorter girl's mouth was slightly open indicated that the picture was not posed – she had been laughing.

But that was not what drew her to the image. The girl on the right, the shorter one, looked just like Diana.

_Rhiannon_?

Diana stared at the picture. The girl's hair was just as curly, if not wild, and her frame was very similar. But the clothes on that frame were street clothes, quite unlike the fancy frock Rhiannon had worn, and her hair was hanging loose. It definitely, by comparison to the other picture Jack showed her, was not her great-grandmother.

And, because this picture appeared to be even older than Rhiannon Daite's engagement portrait, it had to be someone else entirely. _But who_?

She squinted in order to focus on the one girl. Jack was asking her questions now – and demanding that she hand the photograph over to him – but she continued to ignore him. On closer inspection Diana saw that, while the girl in the picture shared similar traits as she did with Rhiannon Daite, she was also very different.

_That's a relief. Knowing that I was my great-grandmother's twin was creepy enough. But for there to be three of us, that would be _really _weird… _

She sighed, a soft sound of mild relief, and lowered the picture. She had been prepared to hand it back over to Jack and, perhaps, point out the similarity between herself and the one girl. But, before she moved to give it to him, her eyes fell on it one more time.

* * *

_Jack was standing there, hands crossed over his chest as he tapped his foot impatiently. "Stress," he said finally and both of the girls sitting on the steps glanced over at him, "I'm gonna to go look for Dave, alright? He said he would meet us over in Bottle Alley at three. It's about half past now and he's late. I'm gonna go find him." _

_The shorter girl – with a halo of wild and frizzy brown hair and an impish smile – lifted her hand and waved him off carelessly, her golden eyes twinkling mischievously as she did so. "Aw, Cowboy," she drawled lazily, "just let the boy be. He's probably out havin' a grand ol' time with all the educated ladies of the City, him in his fancy school and all." _

_Her companion nodded her agreement. She was a taller girl, nearly a head taller than Stress, with hair as dark as coal and wide, staring eyes. "Aye, Kelly," she added, her voice rich with a thick Irish brogue, "Not all of your chums have settled themselves down with a lady," she teased, winking her blue eye at him. Its twin, a deep violet color – for which she received her nickname Fae – shone in barely masked amusement. _

_Jack ran his hand through his thick hair, obviously distracted; so distracted, in fact, that he let Fae's good-natured dig go without a response. David Jacobs, he knew, was as reliable as the sun and, if he was late, he was sure something was wrong. _

_Unlike the three of them – Jack Kelly, Fae Callan and Stress Rhian – David was from a good, loving family and, therefore, not as used to the streets; because of that, the curly-haired Jewish boy frequently found himself in awkward situations. And, even though it had been a few weeks since the neighborhood bullies, the Delancey brothers, had left Manhattan, Jack was a tad bit nervous. Where was David? _

_Lowering his hand to his side, he shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah… but I think I'm still gonna go take a quick walk down to Tibby's. Just in case." When Fae poked Stress in the side with her elbow, and Stress's eyebrow arched, Jack held up his hands in mock defense. "Hey, you never_ _know. Poor Dave may have been shanghaied by Blink or Race or someone. You know how Dave can't say no to one of the fellas." _

_Fae made to reply before obviously thinking better of it. "Aye." After all, Jack _was _right. David was too much a pushover for his own good and they all knew it. _

_Stress pulled herself up from her place on the front stoop of the Bottle Alley Home for Newsgirls. "Don't take too long, Cowboy. The evenin' papes are rollin' and we don't want to miss out on supper." As she gave him her version of a playful lecture, she walked over to him before pausing right in front of him, glancing up at him expectantly. _

_Jack nodded, his right hand absently exploring the contents of his pocket as he listened to Stress. There was a partly crumpled cigarette stashed in the furthest corner of his trouser pockets and he made a note to remember it was there once Stress was out of sight; she hated it when he smoked. _

_Leaning in towards his girl, Jack placed his lips against her slightly dusty cheek. He kissed her once. "Behave," he told her, his lips curving into a tiny smile. _

_She could feel his humor and, in return, nuzzled against him. "You do the same, Cowboy," she retorted before slowly pulling her face away from him. She re-took her seat on the porch, taking care to keep her good skirt from tearing. "Snyder," she said, referencing the old warden of the Refuge – a correctional home for juvenile delinquents kept on the lower east side – "may be gone but that don't mean that those sticky fingers of yours won't get you in trouble." _

_Just then, Jack knew that he should not still be smiling, what with his worry for David's lateness and his craving for a smoke; especially not now, not after Stress had reminded him of his childhood stint in the dreaded Refuge. But he could not help it. There was just something about her, something about the way she was not afraid to say whatever was on her mind, that made it all seem so right. _

_"Don't you worry about me, girls," Jack offered with a cocky swagger. "I'll be right back, and I'll have Dave with me," he added as he stepped down off of the final step of the porch. And, with one last sure grin, he started to head away from the Girls' Home. _

_Stress watched him go; she watched him disappear around the corner at the end of the street. Her golden eyes – like Fae, they were the reason she had earned her nickname – remained on that corner and, most likely, would have stayed there, waiting for his return, had Fae not tapped her on her shoulder. _

_"Doesn't that mission of your Jack's just seem a wee bit useless now, Stress." _

_Stress turned her head, following the direction of Fae's pointed finger. Coming up from the opposite end of the street was a boy – tall and lanky with curly brown hair and a concentrated look on his pale face. He was partly walking, partly running in a lopsided gait made all the more awkward by the clunky camera he was carrying. _

_It was definitely a humorous scene and Fae, for all the straight face she was attempting to keep, let out a short laugh. Stress could not help it; she did the same. _

_The laughter caught David's attention and he lifted his head. His blue eyes narrowed as he tried to see who was waiting outside of the Bottle Alley Home and, when he recognized the pair of chortling girls, he attempted to wave – the result being that the camera very nearly fell out of his loose grip. _

_He caught it at the last moment but the damage was already done. Rather than giggle to themselves, Fae and Stress were out and out laughing. And it only got worse for poor David… _

_Tucking the camera and its stand under his arm – his face heating up to a vivid shade of red – he approached them. He started to tell the girls that it really was not all that funny but, before he did, he had a better idea. A hint of a devilish smirk playing out across his innocent face, David quickly began to set up the tripod. He looked so comical, trying to get the tripod to stand up straight, that Fae and Stress could not refrain from laughing at his expense; instead, they just laughed louder. _

_His revenge for their laughter was to aim the camera at them right in the middle of a rather loud 'Ha!'. _

_

* * *

_

When she opened her eyes again she was back in the room and Jack was no longer sitting on the bed with her; she had been stretched out on the bed, instead, her head resting on some soft pillow. She felt a faint throbbing just behind her left eye and, almost right away, she wanted to close her eyes again. But, just as she did, she heard Jack's voice. He sounded anxious. "Hey, kid? Diana? Can you… can you hear me?"

_Of course I can, you're yelling in my ear! Shh! _

She tried to tell him to hush but could not – at least, not right away. Her throat was dry and her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She slowly lifted the lids of her eyes to show Jack that she was all right since she obviously could not tell him so. He was standing next to the bed, his arms holding the various papers tight; he had rescued them from the bed before he laid Diana down on it. The piece of twine was lying on the floor. Four had crawled out from under the cot and was prodding it with one of her paws.

"Diana? Are you alright?" If he had sounded anxious before, he looked even more agitated standing over her.

Diana tried to swallow and found that her mouth was not as dry as it had been when she first came back. She waited until her saliva moistened her throat before speaking. "Jack? What… what happened?"

All she had in her mind were flashes of the vision. Jack had been there, but then he was gone. There were two girls, positioned like the pair in the photograph, but they were talking and laughing. And then a second boy had appeared with a camera. The flash had gone off mid-laugh.

Jack knelt down beside the bed, just as he had been doing when he first brought the papers over to her. "Kid? What did you see?" He sounded a lot more nervous; his voice nearly cracked on the last word of his question.

She shook her head. She was trying to remember but it was hard. Diana shut her eyes tight and, again, tried her best to remember more but she could not – not really. In the hazy cloud that was quickly overcoming her, she could make out one thing: a name. "Stress," she said and the pounding in her head increased threefold. "Stress."

The strange name had sounded so familiar. And then she remembered; in the vision with Honor Williams, she had _been _that girl. And, while every other memory of the recent vision seemed to fade with the passing seconds, the name grew more vivid. The pains became even sharper.

She opened her eyes to see that Jack's face paled; his brown eyes were lifeless. He looked as if he felt even worse than she did – and, considering the faint headache was beginning to blossom into a migraine, that was saying something.

But, she had to ask it. If not for her own curiosity but because his hesitant expression illustrated that he knew the answer and dictated that he tell her. And she wanted to – _no, needed to _– know.

"Jack, who was Stress?"

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, Happy Memorial Day/Weekend. I want you all to know that I was committed to get this out even though it's a holiday weekend. I know – I'm so dedicated ;) But I had to get it done and I did – and I get to go to the beach tomorrow. Woot. And, with this chapter, we finally found out some info about the poor dead girl. But not much. How much fun would it be if I gave away all the details? We're only just getting started after all. I swear, Diabo is like my own little mini-Lost; this whole piece is going to be filled to the brim with mythology._


	10. X

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

_

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_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

June 4, 2006

* * *

PART TEN

* * *

He turned away from her just then, and let the stack of pictures he was holding drift slowly to the floor. Only one remained in his grasp but he did not share it with her.

_He knows_, she realized, slightly insulted by his action. _And that prick doesn't want to tell me_.

She struggled to sit up, using her elbows as support. Her head was pounding all the stronger but had receded a bit when she said that word. That name. _Stress_.

_It was such an odd name, really. Stress? And what about Fae? Or Honor? What the hell were these people doing when they came up with these names? Rhiannon was a good name and, well, Étaín _was_ pushing it… but at least my family didn't go with adjective-type names. Jeez. _

Diana was only somewhat surprised at her own rambling thoughts; she was trying not to take offense at his rejection. At the basest level, he had rejected her by turning his back on her but she was not going to react.

While he kept his face turned away, she kept on thinking to herself. _And who was that girl, anyway? Was she _the _girl? Or could that have been Fae? Maybe Stress is just the key to this whole mess—could she be the murderer? Or a witness to the murder? And why the hell is Jack still ignoring me?_

Glancing back over at the ghost boy, Diana found that he had not moved at all. His back was still to her and his head was bowed slightly. With a sigh, she finally gave in. She was going to make him talk to her. Or, at the very least, release her from his cove.

However, before she did that, she looked down at her watch and winced. She must have been out longer than she had thought, following that last vision. Her aunt would be home from work soon and Diana was still inside a hidden room, caught somewhere between a bank and an open road, and she had no idea how to get out.

As quietly as she could, Diana swung her legs over the side of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. She slipped herself off the bed until she was standing beside Jack. He had not even noticed that she moved.

Diana placed her hands on her hips. He was the one who kept reminding her that he only had a limited amount of time left but he was the one who was being difficult. She maneuvered herself around him—as the room was quite small, it was difficult not to bump into any of the many stacks of papers and photos he had placed around the space—until she was looking at him. But he was not looking at her.

He was staring at the photograph.

Diana recognized the picture at once. She glanced at it momentarily, long enough to make out the laughing pair, before tearing her eyes away from it. She did not want another vision, even if it meant that she would get more answers.

Instead, she was determined, more now than before, to get those answers from Jack.

But, before she could ask him anything, Jack began to speak. He said each word slowly and quietly, almost as if reciting—or, she realized, quoting. "'Looking back, I have this to regret'," he said, and she noticed that his voice was eerily hollow. His brown eyes never left the picture he held delicately in his hand. "'That too often when I loved, I did not say so'."

She took a step back from him. This was not the Jack Kelly, ghost extraordinaire, that she had come to know. Something was wrong.

And that's when it occurred to her—he was not speaking to her. He did not even realize that she was there. His only focus was on the photograph he held limply in his hand.

"Oh, no you don't," she huffed, before pushing at his arm, trying to get his attention. But it seemed as if her earlier assessment had been correct; Jack did not notice her at all. At that moment, his form—or, everything but the hand that held the picture, she assumed - was tangible. Her hand went right through his arm and, when she realized that had happened, Diana hurriedly jerked her arm back; she felt like she was almost violating him by passing through his ghost form.

She looked back at him, then at the edge of the picture that was in his hand, and had another idea. _It's simple but it just might work. _And, before he could react, Diana snatched the photo right out of his hand. She was careful to keep it face down and away from her own sight. Just in case.

Once his gaze had been ripped away from that old photo, Jack seemed to come back to himself. He scratched the top of his head in a confused manner before turning around and looking at Diana. "I'm sorry. Did you just say something?"

Keeping her hand behind her back, deliberately hiding the picture of Stress and Fae, Diana chewed on her puffed-out bottom lip. _He doesn't know that he just spaced out on me like that? Or is he ignoring it so I don't ask him about his spell there. _

She shook her head slightly and assumed a grin. If she went with the thought that he did not remember what had just happened to him, then maybe he would not remember that she already attempted to ask him about the girl in the picture. She tried again. "Jack, who was Stress?"

He looked at her and his expression went suspicious, his forehead furrowing as one of his eyes squinted at her. "Why?"

_Now that's more like it. At least he didn't go all weird on me this time. A suspicious Jack I can handle_. "Well, you see…" _Wait… how the hell am I supposed to tell him I know about her without mentioning the damn picture? Crap._

Jack held up his hand, cutting her off. "Did I show you a picture, kid?"

_Oopsie. He already knows_. Diana nodded but that was all she did. She definitely did not offer the picture back to him.

But Jack did not ask for it, either. Instead, he, as possible as it was for a ghost, paled. "Did you…did you see anythin' in that picture?"

Again, she nodded. She did not like where this was going. It seemed to her that he was on the verge of another frozen in time moment like he had had before.

But, this time, she was prepared. He was not going to go all weird on her and prevent her from getting back to her aunt's house if she could help it. "It was nothing big, Jack. Just two girls, Stress and—"

"Fae, I know." He rubbed his eyes and took two steps backwards until the back of his knees bumped into the edge of the bed.

_Solid again_, she noticed absently as he sat down on the bed. "Listen, Jack, it's getting late and I—"

"You're the first one who saw anythin' in that picture, kid," he admitted, for the second time interrupting her. His voice sounded as hollow as it did earlier—but not hollow as in unfeeling; hollow as in feeling too much pain.

His words caused her intended exit to be postponed for a bit. She was not too sure if she understood exactly what he meant and that sense of confusion distracted her. _Does he mean like a vision_? Assuming that was what he meant, she waved her hand. "It was nothing, really, Jack."

He was already shaking his head. "You don't understand, Diana. It's somethin', alright. None of the other girls has ever… _ever… _got somethin' from a picture of her. Never ever." The way he said it made it sound like it was a bad thing.

Diana was even more confused now. "Who? Fae?" She was beginning to think that maybe the Irish girl with the strange colored eyes was more important than she had first thought. After all, Jack had only been too ready to supply the name when Diana mentioned the picture. If he did not remember anything from that brief spell, how did he know which picture it was?

Unless, of course, that was the only picture that either girl appeared in. She rubbed her right temple. With all this puzzled thinking, her headache was returning back to her, full-force.

Jack glanced up at her and she could see that he was as confused as she was now. "Fae? What? No. The other girl."

It was at that moment that she let her confusion got the better of her. "Jack, who the hell_ is_ she? Tell me, already, damn it." She crossed her arms over her chest now, frustrated. Diana felt like all she was getting was the run around dealing with him and she did not like it one bit.

A sad smile came to his face and, almost at once, Diana felt guilty for causing that pout to form. "Why, kid, she's the one."

"The one?"

"Yeah, Stress, sh—" he began before stopping abruptly. With a raised eyebrow and a sharp sigh, he looked down at his body—or, rather, what was left of it. For no discernable reason, the ghost boy was fading away.

Her green eyes very nearly popped out of her head when she saw that. Anytime before, when he had gone tangible, Diana could still see him as the boy he was. She only realized that he was not solid when some object was able to pass through him. But now… there was no doubt about it, Jack was disappearing. She could see the wall behind him clearly through him. "Jack, what's going on?"

But Jack did not look worried, just annoyed. He shut his mouth tightly, pressing thin lips together, while remaining still. Diana could not understand exactly what he was doing but could not bring it upon herself to ask.

That was all right, though; after a few minutes of silence Jack began to come back. Slowly, his color returned and his shape seemed to fill out. Then, when he was fully himself again, and he could risk speaking, he swore. "Damn."

"'Damn'?" she repeated, almost in disbelief. "Is that all you can say, Jack? What was _that_?"

Jack shook his head slowly, a bit of a reddish hue coming to his cheeks. "I thought, maybe…"

_Huh? What kind of answer is that? _"Maybe what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I thought that since you could see Str—see her, that maybe it was okay now," he answered. Diana stared at him. He still was not making any sense to her. "Well, you see, I can't really talk about her at all. One of the rules. I thought that since you brought her up—you knew her name and all—that you were finally the one that I could speak to about her. But, nope. The same thing always happens. Whenever I happen to bring her up, the Devil calls on my soul and tries to bring me to Hell a bit early. And, I tell ya, he almost got me that time. Damn."

Diana tried her best to digest this additional information. "Wait… are you telling me that you're not even allowed to mention the girl that we're supposed to be saving?" She blinked, obviously struggling to understand how such an important rule had been left out in his explanation. "How are you even supposed to find out who killed her if you can't say her name?"

Jack smiled but the humor of the gesture did not extend to his eyes. She could tell it was not a smile of happiness but one of intense irony. "Didn't you wonder why it's taken me a hundred years and I _still _don't know what happened that night?"

Diana opened her mouth to reply but, before even one word had been uttered, she clamped her jaw shut. There was simply nothing she could say in response to that just then…

* * *

She let go of Jack's arm once they were outside of the wall, glad that he finally agreed that it was time she went home for some sleep (and, perhaps, a shower and some dinner). Diana knew that if he had more room in that little nook of his, he never would have let her return back to Duane Street; he was that intent on following up on this quest of his.

The sun was slowly beginning its descent but, whether or not it was hidden behind the city's skyscrapers, it really did not matter; like the night before, Diana could still see everything out on the street before her. It was a bit dark on the side street that the bank was on—which was a good thing. Just how would she have been able to explain it to any passerby who might have seen her walking through the wall? _Just call me Shadowcat_, she thought to herself turning back to look over her shoulder at Jack.

He was looking a lot better than before, even if he did look a little disappointed. The two of them had spent the entire day within the confines of the small room but he had gotten no further in discussing what exactly he expected Diana to do; after repeating everything he had told her the night before—she was still having a hard time believing it all—Jack had realized that she was going to be no further help until she understood that he _really_ was a ghost, and that she _really_ was talking to him.

As soon as they had made it out on the (thankfully vacant) street, Jack paused, leaning up against the brick wall. "So, uh, kid, you want me to walk you back to your aunt's place?" As he spoke, he rubbed at the back of his neck and Diana could tell that he did not really want her to accept his offer; his very expression and mannerism told her that he had a lot of things on his mind and that he would rather not waste his time baby-sitting her but he would if she wanted him to.

"Um…" Diana really did not want to bother him and, as it was, she would have loved to finally have some time alone. But there was one small problem: she had only just arrived in Manhattan the night before and, due to her heavy thoughts on the way to Jack's hideaway, she had no idea where exactly she was or how she was supposed to find her way back to her aunt's building. She could, she knew, flag down a taxi and take a cab ride back, but after the adventure from the day before, the option was not all that appealing.

Jack lowered his arm before crossing both of his in front of his chest. He nodded at her. "It ain't a hassle, you know. I could get you back, no problem."

"Yeah," she agreed, gesturing vaguely over her shoulder. "I really don't want to be a bother and all but I really don't know where I am." She grinned sheepishly, feeling a bit like a fool for landing herself in such a strange situation. There she was, lost in New York City, with only a dead newsboy as a companion. "And, uh, I'm not too sure that I'll be able to find my way back."

He nodded. He had been figuring that.

But that did not necessarily mean that he was going to walk her all the way back. It was as if, with the arrival of Diana Mason, he had realized just how little time remained—only two months—and how much still had to be done—everything—in that time.

"Okay, I'll help. Why don't you just close your eyes and—"

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? I'm gonna help you. You need to get back to Ria's place and I got just the way. You shut your eyes and I'll, well, I'll send you there."

"How?"

She did not think that he could look more amused if he tried. "How do you think, kid?"

Diana thought it over for a second. She was definitely a bit wary of accepting supernatural help from an admitted ghost. But, then again, if it could get it back to her aunt's house quicker than walking—and it probably would be safer than chancing another trip in a taxi—than it might _just_ be an okay idea.

"Alright. Fine. I'm in." And she shut her eyes.

Jack watched as those green eyes were hidden from sight and, for a second, tried not to notice just how similar she was to… He shook his head. If he was going to transport her back to Duane Street, he was going to need all the concentration he could get. As it was, he hoped he had enough energy to actually _get_ her there.

So, with a deep breath and a brisk exhale, Jack Kelly blinked. The girl vanished. And, with another, more half-hearted exhale—one that sounded suspiciously like he was panting—he blinked again. He, too, was gone.

And a tourist, who was currently walking down Broadway and had stopped to tie his shoe only to witness the disappearance of a teenage girl, just shook his head and decided that it was high time to return to his hotel room for the night.

* * *

She opened her eyes and, almost as quickly, shut them. Her head was a bit fuzzy and she felt disoriented all of a sudden. _Okay… note to self: never take Jack up on an offer for help again. Sheesh. _

Shaking her hand, trying to get rid of the woozy feeling, Diana opened her eyes—before blinking and trying to figure out just how it had gotten so dark so fast. As far as she knew, all she had done was close her eyes and allow Jack to send her downtown. But now… there was no sign of the sun in the sky, the neon lights were everywhere.

_What time is it? _

Glancing down at the silver watch resting on her left wrist, Diana was surprised to find that it was nine. Nine o'clock—three hours from the last time she had checked her watch… which, from what she had figured, should have only been about five minutes ago.

_Ah, crap… what the…? Nine? But it was six, wasn't it? I mean, I thought… Oh, man… Aunt Ria is going to _kill _me! _

"Miss Mason?"

She whipped her head around, glancing around for the voice. It was a man's voice, urgent and gravely, and she recognized it at once.

"Mr. Kloppman?" The old man was standing at the end of the block, his back to the entrance at No. 9 Duane Street. There was a hat perched atop his head and his hands were crossed in front of him; when Diana met the direction of his stare, he lifted a wrinkled hand and beckoned her closer. She started to head down the street. "Mr. Kloppman!"

He continued to wave her forward. "Miss Mason, it's so good to see that you're back. Your aunt," he said, as she got to his side and he led her into the building, "has been so worried."

Diana gulped, her mind racing. Just then, she had no idea what she was supposed to say—there really was no way to explain her disappearance, after all. Even _she _did not know where the last few hours had gone. "Uh… Sorry? I—"

The butler's head shook sharply, cutting off her excuse, but, from his profile, she could see that he did not look angry. In fact, he appeared to be almost amused as the pair of them crossed the lobby and approached the elevator. Kloppman used a gnarled finger to call the elevator but, still, he said nothing. Diana, following suit, kept her mouth shut. She did, however, gulp as the elevator rang and they climbed inside.

When they exited the elevator at the top floor, a sudden case of flapping butterflies, brought on by nerves, began to settle in her unsettled stomach. She knew that Kloppman had to be right; Ariadne must have been worried, or angry, or both, in order to send her butler out to find her. As such, the girl was dreading meeting her aunt again. She knew that she had promised to be home by dinner and, well, unless her watch was lying, it was after nine.

Still without another word, Kloppman led her to the apartment door, through the front room and right into the den where, based on the activities of the night before, she knew she would find her aunt.

The old man paused outside the door, allowing her to pass by him and enter into the den. Then, when she had entered the room, Kloppman left and went, presumably, to get ready for bed; that left just Diana and her aunt.

She gulped again. Just then, as she watched as Ariadne rose to her feet, her normally impassive face drawn together in a worried frown, Diana thought that she would rather spend the rest of the evening with Jack and his extensive photo collection.

"Diana," the woman began and held up a hand when her niece tried to begin to cut in and apologize, "please take a seat."

Still silent, Diana did as she was told. She sat in one of the straight-back black chairs that were set across from the one her aunt had been occupying.

As soon as her niece had taken a very hesitant seat, Ariadne did the same. Then, placing her hands out in front of her and folding them gently, she said, "Diana, dear… I think there's something we need to talk about."

* * *

Author's Note: _And, finally, we got out of that stupid little room. I was beginning to think that Jack and Diana were going to spend the next two months holed up in that room. Now that I've gotten some of the background out of the way, I can actually start the search... and focus on some of Jack's powers, too._


	11. XI

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

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* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

June 11, 2006

* * *

PART ELEVEN

* * *

Diana got the feeling just then that she didn't want to hear whatever it was her aunt had to say. She smiled across the table. "Do you think it can wait, Aunt Ria? I'm kinda hungry and I never had any dinner, so…"

A quick shake of her aunt's head was enough to keep Diana in her seat. Ariadne Cearr looked as proper as always, every strand of dark brown hair in place, her dark business suit wrinkle-free. It was her eyes that alerted her niece to the severity of the discussion; it was the eerily missing smile that told Diana that she really wasn't going to enjoy this chat. As uptight as Ariadne had to be to succeed in her office, every memory Diana had of her was smiling – even if Ariadne was the down-to-earth twin; Arianrhod was the happy, spontaneous one. It was Roddy Cearr, now Mason, who had surprised them all by settling down and starting a family. Diana was proof of that.

As long as she had known her aunt, she had never seen her so serious outside of the work environment. Ariadne was a firm believer in a split between work and play; work stayed in the office, play stayed at home. Diana had looked forward to spending time with her aunt. For the past few years, the work had intensified and the play had diminished and Ariadne's ventures out of Manhattan had become few. Now, for the first time in two years, Diana was able to spend time with her aunt. And she was acting as if someone had died.

_Well, that girl Stress died and then Jack did_, she found herself thinking, trying to avoid her aunt's concerned expression, _but that was almost a hundred years ago._

"Diana," Ariadne began and her niece couldn't help but notice that her voice wavered a bit. "What did you do today?"

For about a second Diana considered lying. But then she looked up and saw her aunt give her a comforting smile and knew that she couldn't do that. All she could do was hope that her aunt remembered the ghost boy – _how could she forget?_ – and believed Diana's tale. "I was with Jack," she said, almost defiantly. She was daring Ariadne to remember him if only to prove to herself that he was, indeed, real. She almost wished that she had told him to accompany her back to the apartment. She wouldn't feel so crazy all of a sudden if he had.

But the crazy feeling was fleeting. Ariadne, almost as if she was expecting the answer, let out a deep breath. _She remembers_. "Diana…" she began and the sense of foreboding that struck Diana upon entering the den multiplied, "that _boy _– he's not what you think."

"Then what is he?" Diana asked, almost warily. She knew he wasn't a boy but if he wasn't a ghost, then what was he? A demon?

"A fake." Ariadne waited a moment to see if Diana would reply. Her niece looked taken aback at the statement.

"So, he's not a ghost?" she returned. She almost looked frightened. She had been comfortable with the idea that he was a ghost – if Casper was a friendly ghost, then Jack could be friendly, too. But, as far as she knew, all demons were bad.

Her aunt shook her head and Diana just knew that what her aunt would say next would justify the reasons behind their serious chat. She was right. "Jack Kelly," Ariadne began and any hope that – maybe – her aunt was talking about some other ghost boy called Jack slipped away, "_is_ a ghost but he's not a ghost with a true agenda. He is nothing but a wretch who masquerades as a scorned man in order to manipulate poor girls. He has been haunting our family for the past century only to amuse himself. He hides under the guise of finding answers to an old mystery while never actually trying to solve it."

The words hit Diana and, at once, she felt like a fool. She had thought the same thing about the boy at first but, after having those visions, had assumed that his words were the truth. _He had seemed so upset over Stress_, she thought. But it made sense. Not being able to say the name of the girl? She could see that that was nothing more than an excuse to cover the fact that he didn't make any progress in finding her murderer. _If there even is such a person_.

She could feel her aunt's intent gaze on her and she looked away. _She must have known that he would try to screw with me next. And _I _should have known that something was up when he got uptight when I mentioned Aunt Ria. _Little things that happened over the course of that day seemed to strike out at Diana as odd and she felt her cheeks color. How could she have even believed a word of what he said?

Even more now than before she regretted letting Jack stay behind at his nook. If it were possible, and Jack obliged her enough by remaining solid, she would throttle the ghost for trying to play his games with her. And she – she had almost let him. _Thank God for Aunt Ria._ She couldn't help but think that she should have known better; that the reason no one had ever spoken of Jack before because he was nothing more than a pain. That she should have been able to discover that on her own without her aunt having to explain it to her as if she were three years old. _I'm gonna get that damn ghost if it's the last thing I do_, she thought and looked down. She couldn't bear facing Ariadne at that moment.

Ariadne watched the expressions play out on her niece's face. First there was confusion, then embarrassment, and, finally, anger. She knew what Diana was feeling – she had dealt with Jack Kelly's cruel manipulation for ten years; Diana, at least, had only known him for a single day. And, if Ariadne had her way, that would be all she knew him for. She opened her mouth in order to continue telling Diana about the ghost boy but found she couldn't. The girl was still staring down at the table top, clearly thinking about she had just heard.

She felt for her young niece. The boy could seem so charming and so desperately in need of help but she knew better. Her sister knew better. The boy did nothing but use his extended afterlife to play cruel jokes upon her family. She couldn't let him get Diana; she and Roddy had tried too hard for too long to keep her protected. It had almost killed her to give up seeing Diana after her sixteenth birthday. But they knew that, once she turned sixteen, Jack could appeal to her if she ever entered the old building.

And, almost if she had no choice, that decision had weighed on her mind for the past two years until, finally, she agreed to Diana's request that she be allowed to visit her in the City. She had hoped that maybe Jack would leave the girl alone. According to the story he had told her when she was just sixteen, he only had until this year. Maybe Diana's presence wouldn't be necessary.

She could already see the toll that he had taken on her niece. One day only and he already had her mixed up in his game. Briefly she wondered how many 'visions' he had already implanted into Diana's head in order to get her to continue with his charades.

Ariadne shook her head. She didn't have the heart to tell Diana anymore just then. It had hurt the both of them, she knew, by her just affirming his own devil nature. The only thing she could do was give Diana the heirloom and hope that the contents inside were enough to help the girl.

Diana, with her eyes flickering across the marble table top, was trying to digest what her aunt had just told her. _He's nothing more than a lying ghost?_ Her overall impression of Jack was that he was at least serious about his deadline – that he really did have only two months left – and that he had to save that girl. And here was Ariadne telling her that his earlier explanation was a scam.

She suddenly didn't feel very hungry. The thought of any sort of dinner just turned her stomach. She pushed her seat away from the table and got up. "I think I'm just going to go to bed now," she said, almost apologetically. As upset – and confused – as this whole discussion had just made her, she could see that her aunt was just as disturbed. _And she must have been holding this in a lot longer than a day_, she realized. _Poor Aunt Ria_.

Ariadne held up one of her hands in order to stop Diana. Still sitting down, she reached under her chair with her left hand. "Diana, wait," she said. Her voice no longer wavered. Diana stopped and watched as her aunt lifted up a wooden box from beneath the table. It was about the size of a large book and did not appear to be too heavy. Ariadne, needing only one hand, placed the box down onto the tabletop and slid it across towards her niece.

Diana accepted the box from her aunt and lifted it up. Ignoring the carving that was on top of the box, she noticed that there was a brown splotch spread across the front of the box, almost as if it had been swiped on it. "That's a weird paint design to put on an antique box," she observed out loud, trying to keep her mind off of Jack. She felt like a fool for believing everything he told her earlier. She just hoped that he was smart enough to leave her alone. _It's a pity he's already dead_.

Her aunt's laugh was not the one she was used to; it was hollow and told Diana that whatever she was laughing about wasn't really that funny. "Diana, my dear, that's not paint."

"Then what is it?" she asked. She didn't really want to know but the question was out before her common sense kicked in.

"Blood." Ariadne's voice was crisp. She didn't even blink. She had looked at that box and tried to pry it open so often in her youth that she forgot the morbidity of the blood that was spread across the front.

"Blood?" She wasn't sure she heard that right. _Someone put blood on this box_? Frowning, her nose wrinkled in distaste, she placed it back down onto the table.

Ariadne nodded slowly, her green eyes focused on the box. Her face was tired yet firm but her body relaxed; she was relieved to finally be able to share this with someone that wasn't Kloppman. Kloppman, after all, could do nothing but watch this building and was never much help. "This box was handcrafted back in 1927 for one purpose: it holds a secret."

Despite the blood on the box, Diana found her curiosity peaked. "A secret? What kind of secret?" Her fingers were itching to open it now.

Ariadne sighed. "I don't know. It was passed down to me and your mom by our mother. She wasn't allowed to open it either."

Diana found herself echoing her aunt's sigh. She really wanted to know what was in that box. "Between you and mom _and _Grandma Étaín, none of you ever just opened the box to see what's inside?" She couldn't believe how good they all were. If it had been her, she would have opened the box right away. _Why is Aunt Ria giving me a box that I can't open_? She began to look at the box sideways. Regardless of what her aunt said, as soon as she got the chance, that box was being opened.

Ariadne caught her niece's glance and couldn't hide a smile. "We couldn't open it, dear, see?" Leaning inward, she stretched two of her fingernails toward the box and, using them as pincers, tried to life the clasp. It didn't budge. She then tried to lift the lid of the box with her hand but it remained flat against the bottom. There wasn't even sign of flack that the lid had moved at all. Diana's eyes were still on the box. Ariadne pulled her hand back and gestured down. "But," she said, "that doesn't mean that _you _can't open it."

Diana's green eyes shot upward until they met her aunt's. "I can open it?"

Ariadne nodded. One of her long red fingernails pointed over to the wooden box. "That blood there was a seal that the maker put on the box to ensure to no one – ghost," she said with a slight sneer and Diana knew she was referring to Jack, "or mortal – got into that box until he wished."

"So why can I open it?" She was still confused. Why would a box that was made in the late '20's be sealed until _she_ could open it? She wasn't born until almost sixty years later.

This answer was almost as simple as 'Blood.' Ariadne said it in the same no-nonsense fashion that insinuated that the short reply answered any questions that Diana would have: "Because Diana – curse or not, fake or not – _you_ are the fourth."

* * *

Diana sat cross-legged atop her bed, facing the faded wooden box. She would reach for it, then hesitate, and pull her hand back. For some reason, she just couldn't bring herself to open it. _Probably_, she thought, trying to fight the wave of nerves that threatened to build up, _because Aunt Ria made it sound like this whole ghost thing is a big conspiracy and the truth is locked in a box that's almost eighty years old._

It was a beautiful box, really. It was small, slightly bigger than the size of a hardcover book, and made out of cedar wood. It was never finished with any sort of glaze but had a single carving: _Fate_. It was very simple but she could see that the detail to each letter was intricate. Briefly she wondered who had made such a box. Her aunt referred to the person just as "the maker". Besides that, all Diana knew was that it was crafted decades ago and, she assumed, given to her grandmother, Étaín Cearr.

The only blemish to the worn wood was that splotch of brown spread across the front of the box. While she had initially thought it to be paint, her aunt had proved her wrong – and, by doing that, had made Diana feel that she was thrown deeper into this mess than before. _Maybe that's why I don't want to touch this box. Forget about 'Fate' – the damn thing must be cursed. This whole 'quest' thing is nothing but a curse_.

But, somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt the familiar nag of her curiosity. She knew that if she didn't at least peek inside the box, she would not be able to do anything else. The nag would just grow and grow until all she could think about was all the things that box could hold. _A secret_, her aunt had said.

That sealed it. She had to look inside, if not for her own sanity, but for her aunt. Ariadne had seemed so upset when discussing Jack. Maybe something in this box would be able to make her feel better about this whole situation.

Her hands shaking slightly – both in anticipation at what she would find and in disgust for having to touch the blood – Diana reached for the clasp.

* * *

Author's Note: _I feel kind of bad, doing this to you all. Not only did I wait until the later part of the day to finish this and get it out (I was at the zoo, woot! They had bears and a ginormous pig) but I, basically, undid everything you thought was fact in this story and turned it on its head. Is it true? Or is Jack the good guy? We'll know soon enough. And sorry about the cliffhanger – I've been meaning to do a nasty one like that sooner or later. Who knows, though? Maybe I'll actually post sometime this week and give you guys more clues instead of waiting until next Sunday. Reviews make good bribes – I'm just interested in knowing how many people are interested in where this plot is going._


	12. XII

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

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* * *

_

**a Maldição de Diabo**

June 18, 2006

* * *

PART TWELVE

* * *

Her hand was rested right atop the faded brass clasp that kept the wooden box closed when she heard the noise. Her first thought was that the box itself was making such a sound. It was a quiet noise, sounding quite like the sole of a slipper sliding across the floor, but incredibly insistent at the same time. Then, after the sliding noise, came a thump sound. After the thump, the sliding would begin again.

Diana drew her hand back and scooted away from the box. It wasn't until her back was up against the headboard of her bed, and the box had remained where it was at the bed's end, that she stopped to wonder just how an old wooden box could make such a sound. She was letting this entire ghosts and curses mumbo jumbo get to her head. Her mother would be ashamed to see how silly she had gotten since arriving in the City. _No wonder Mom wanted me to stay behind for the summer._

However, considering the past day and a half, Diana wasn't taking any chances. She had only had a small amount of time to unpack since arriving at her aunt's penthouse but she had been able to find the time to remove a single stuffed animal from the smallest of her three pieces of luggage. It had been sometime during the night that she had done it; she had drifted off to sleep quite suddenly but awoke after a few hours, disoriented due to being in an unfamiliar bed. Rather than panic, she leaned over the edge of the bed and went rummaging around her case until she found her Bambi. She had had the old and ratty stuffed deer ever since she was a baby and, even at seventeen, she needed to have it beside her at certain times. Last night counted as one of those times and, after she left Ariadne alone in the den, she had made sure Bambi was right there while preparing to open the 'Fate' box.

Now, though, she removed Bambi from his place at the top of the bed, next to one of the two large pillows her aunt had provided for her. She placed a quick kiss on the top of the toy's almost bald head, rubbed down after years of comforting pats, and gripped it as if it were a baseball. Then, with near perfect aim, she threw poor Bambi at the box.

The stuffed toy hit the left half of the box, just missing the splotch of blood that was spread across the clasp. Diana had thrown Bambi somewhat hard in her distress and, when he hit, the box went careening off of the bed, followed by the toy.

When the wooden box hit the tiled floor off her bedroom with a slight crash, the noise didn't stop. _It can't still be the box, can it? _Diana leaned forward on her knees and crawled toward the end of the bed. She looked over the edge and saw the 'Fate' box resting on its top, Bambi sprawled on his side a foot away from it. Not surprisingly, considering everything Ariadne had told her about the box and its impenetrability, the box had remained closed as it fell.

Diana sighed and reached over. She retrieved both the wooden box and her toy from the floor. She placed the box back where she had been inspecting it earlier and put Bambi back in his spot, next to her pillows. She leaned down and gave her stuffed toy a quick apology peck on the head before turning her attention back to the box.

Her fingers were just about to reach for the clasp when another thought came to her; she was surprised she hadn't thought about it before she launched a stuffed animal attack against the 'Fate' box. _Jack_. The ghost boy had shown that he was not above following her into her room without the slightest thought to her privacy or to her permission. _Could that creep be in here now?_

Diana slowly began to look around her room. _I wonder how you are supposed to tell if an invisible specter is haunting your room, _she thought before smiling and nodding her head slightly. _I know_. Then, with an act that would seem obvious to anyone, she put her hand to her forehead and opened her green eyes wide. "Oh, how I wish that Jack Kelly was here right now," she began, her voice loud enough just in case he wasn't really paying attention to her; as it was, it seemed as if the sound was coming from just outside her room. Perhaps he was exploring the penthouse? _Or screwing around with Aunt Ria some more,_ she thought, bitterly. How could he do something like that to her family? And for a century? She was still upset about the implications of what her Aunt had said and, also, what she hadn't said. If Jack _was_ the source of the noise, she was going to make him regret it. "Because, my goodness, I just remembered something about that girl. That Stress of his." She paused again. It had sounded like the noise had stopped; at the exact moment that she mentioned that girl, the noise had stopped. _It must be Jack_.

With a determined expression on her face, she started up again. "Yeah, she said something about danger and stuff when I saw her in the photograph," she announced out loud while climbing off of her bed. She was almost sure, now, that the sound was coming from just outside her room. Maybe Jack had paused beside the door to listen to her. _If he's out there, I'm going to catch him. _"I think that if I could just see that picture again," she said, her hand now on the doorknob, "I'm sure that I would have more infor—"

On the word 'information', she had slowly opened the door so as not to alert anyone who may be on the other side. But, before she had finished her sentence, she had opened the door and the sight of who was standing there, ear pressed against the wood, had stopped her sentence short. "Mister Kloppman?" she asked, as she took in the elderly butler, dressed in his nightclothes, complete with tattered slippers. _Ahh, slippers_, _I was right,_ she noted before turning her attention to the sheepish grin that was displayed on his wrinkled face. He had been bent slightly down so that he could hear what was going on inside Diana's bedroom better but, now that he was facing the girl, he straightened himself up. Pushing his wire-rim glasses up his nose, he greeted to girl. "Why, hello Miss Mason."

She couldn't believe it. It was her aunt's _butler_ who was sneaking around at 10:30 at night, trying to listen to what was going on inside her room. _Well, doesn't the butler always do it_, she thought, trying to make light of the situation. It was creepy enough that she was dealing with manipulative ghosts, but now a perverted old butler, too?

Kloppman bowed slightly and turned his gaze away from the girl. Diana had also changed into her pajamas for the night – a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts – and, no doubt, Kloppman found it inappropriate to look at her dressed so. "This is not what it looks like, Miss."

Diana leaned up against the frame of the door, her hand still on knob. If the butler tried anything weird, she could have the door shut before he could even take a step inside her room. "Oh, really?"

He shook his head, the wisps of grey hair that were left going astray. He looked like a harmless old man and Diana felt bad that she had assumed the worse. Maybe he had just been up, pacing because he couldn't sleep, and only came to stop at her room when she started to speak loudly. She relaxed her grip on the knob.

It was awkward, the pair of them facing each other but neither of them speaking. Diana was waiting for an explanation; Kloppman was hesitant in giving one. It was when she finally just gave up on waiting for him to say something and was about to go back inside that Kloppman spoke. "I'm sorry, Miss Mason."

_Sorry_. The word registered with her and she, automatically, got defensive. The somber way in which he used the word told her that he was not only apologizing for being found waiting outside her bedroom door. He was apologizing for something much bigger than that, and that made her defensive. _What does he know that I don't? _And then it hit her. _Obviously a lot_. Kloppman had been tied to this building, working as the butler, for decades as were the Kloppman's that came before him. Jack had mentioned the name in passing and Ariadne had lived in this building – with Kloppman as a caretaker - when she met the ghost boy all those years ago.

All of a sudden the words that Kloppman had said to her the day before, when discussing the tale of the two dead orphans – _Jack and Stress_, she thought – came rushing back to her. _Though, I must say, it has also been said that a relative of your mother,_ _Arianrhod, once encountered the young man haunting this very bedroom almost twenty-five years ago. _If she had been thinking yesterday, if she had even believed one word of the story when Kloppman told it to her shortly after her arrival, then she would have known. He _had _been referring to Ariadne Cearr. _Kloppman must know all about Jack as well as the ghost's history with my family_, she realized. _Is that why he is apologizing?_

"What?" she asked, confused. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could get the old man to talk. _Someone needs to tell me just what is going on around here. I need to hear the truth._

Without meeting her gaze, Kloppman spoke. "I overheard you and Ms. Ariadne earlier, Miss. I was wondering if you had gotten around to opening the box that she gave you."

Diana shook her head slowly. _Why do I have a feeling that I _really _don't_ _want to know what's in that damn box? _"No, Mr. Kloppman. I was just admiring the simplicity of the design and I was just going to ask Aunt Ria who made it," she said. _He doesn't need to know that I was too afraid to open it straight away or that I opened the door to see if Jack was lurking outside my room. I don't want him telling my aunt that I'm a scaredy cat – or that Jack had been in the apartment recently._ She didn't think Ariadne would appreciate that.

Kloppman almost seemed proud at her words; Diana noted the way his chest almost puffed out but decided not to remark on it. "I was just on my way to the bathroom and I thought I heard a small crash," the old man said.

"Oh, that. I was holding the box up to my eye and I thought I saw a spider on it, so I dropped it. It fell on the floor," she lied. _Or that I threw Bambi at it because I thought it was making noises._

Kloppman nodded and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Did the box open when it fell?"

"No," she answered, but she said the word almost as if it were a question. _Why is he so interested in what's in the box?_

"Oh." Kloppman looked relieved for a second but, before she could be sure that it was relief that she saw cross his face, the expression was gone. He bowed slightly again. "Well, Miss Mason, I should be off to bed. Sleep well."

Diana nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Kloppman."

The old man turned to leave but, after taking a few steps away, he turned back to look at the girl. Diana hadn't moved yet. "Miss Mason?"

"Yes?" Somehow she had known that the conversation wasn't over yet.

Kloppman sighed. "Your aunt had it rough when she was younger. She and her sister had a lot of troubles and Ms. Ariadne sometimes likes to place the fault on other parties."

_Huh? _Diana wasn't too sure what to make of that. She opened her mouth to ask Kloppman to elaborate but she never got the chance. The butler bowed for the third time and was gone before she could even formulate a coherent question.

She remained in the doorway for a good five minutes after Kloppman disappeared down the hallway. _So, Jack was the good guy, then he was the bad guy and now he's just my aunt's scapegoat? _She shook her head. What, really, does Kloppman know about all of this? He just overheard a private discussion that Ariadne and Diana had earlier. That was all. He was probably just as curious to what was in the wooden box, just like Ariadne. Just like her.

With a slight huff, Diana shut the door again and, to be on the safe side, locked it. She then went back over to her bed and retook her seat opposite of the 'Fate' box. Now, more than before, she wanted to know what was in the box.

She reached for the brass clasp and waited, holding her breath at just that moment. When she could make out no sounds coming from the box, her room or the hallway just outside her door, Diana exhaled and, using her right pointer finger, placed it under the clasp just as her aunt had done earlier that night. But when Ariadne tried to lift the clasp upward she had used two fingers and couldn't get it to move; the clasp flipped up under almost no guidance from Diana's finger. _Well, I guess I will be able to see what's inside_, she thought. She had been nervous that, since Ariadne hadn't been able to open the box – or, at least, that's what she had said – she wouldn't be able to open the box either.

Her hands were shaking again as she brought both forward, placing a hand on each side of the wooden lid. Her green eyes scanned the four letters that were carved in the top, _F A T E_, one more time before taking the lid off. She placed the lid beside her and, eagerly, looked inside the box.

There, nestled atop a bed of cedar shavings, sat a small black hard covered book. It was small, about the size of a modern paperback novel, and had nothing written on the front. It was just a plain black cover.

_This is it_? From the way both her aunt and Kloppman had been so interested as to what had been stored in the wooden box, Diana had thought that there would be something _more _hidden inside. Jewels, maybe, or gold, but not a plain book.

Feeling slightly gypped at the find, Diana lifted the book out of the box. It was thin and very lightweight; it smelled of history – or, at the least, historical wood chips. She did not enjoy the musty scent.

Her earlier fears were now missing. To an extent, so was her curiosity. It was on whim that she decided to open the book to its first page and read it; she had told herself that once school ended she didn't want to be bothered with schoolwork until the fall semester began and reading definitely counted as schoolwork.

Almost at once Diana knew that this was no ordinary book. The inside pages had no typing on them; each letter was painstakingly drawn with a fountain pen but placed upon the paper with such care that, despite the spelling errors and poor grammar, she could read each word. It was not a book. It was a journal. _No, not a journal_, she saw after reading the first few lines, _a letter._

**3 August 1927 **

**To my child, which one who ever reads this book. **

**I, Lester Jacobs, have writ down the following as proof that every thing that happens to you is real. My precious wife, Rhiannon, has forgotten it all. I fear that the same will happen to our baby, Étaín, when she has her own kin. But I remember. I remember because I knew Cowboy. And I knew Stress. And I know what happened… **

Diana finished the first few lines and put the book down, setting it down next to Bambi. _Oh, boy. _

* * *

Author's Note: _I really did mean to update this story sometime during the week but I ended up focusing on some of my shorter stories. But, I'll let you know, I was going to draw out the suspense of what was in the box for another chapter and I felt guilty, so I folded. Diana gets to open the box. Woot. Also, chocolate-covered newsies to anyone who understands why good ol' Bambi is important ;)_


	13. XIII

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

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**a Maldição de Diabo**

June 25, 2006

* * *

PART THIRTEEN

* * *

It was after he had shown the young Miss Mason into the den to meet with Ariadne that Alfred Kloppman stepped outside the room and took up his place just outside the door. As quietly as he could, the elderly butler proceeding to listen in on everything that transpired between the two women.

The conversation was quick to start; the niceties that he had observed his employer excel at over her many years as a business hostess were eerily absent. Kloppman understood why: Ariadne wanted to plunge right into the subject of Jack Kelly while she had the nerve. After all, Diana would be the first person – except for Arianrhod and Kloppman, himself – that Ariadne confided in. He was quite interested to hear exactly what it was that she told her niece.

Understandably, Ariadne started with a simple question. _Diana, what did you do today? _If her fears were unfounded – and they would not be, Kloppman knew – than Diana would make no mention of the ghost. Diana's response confirmed Ariadne's suspicions. She had been with Jack.

Kloppman had to allow himself a shake of his head at that. _Damn, Jack, always the fast one, _he thought. _Couldn't even give the girl a day or two to rest before dropping your problems into her lap. _Obviously, Ariadne felt the same way. Before she even knew it, the woman grew defensive and lashed out against the specter, referring to him as a 'fake'.

Even from his post just outside, Kloppman could detect the confusion coming from the younger girl. She hadn't been expecting that. And Ariadne did not stop there – using a few harsh words, the woman told her niece exactly what she thought of Jack Kelly. _Pity it's not all that true_.

He got nervous just then when Diana announced that she was going to bed. Kloppman straightened up and prepared to make a fast exit but paused when Ariadne stopped Diana from leaving. And that's when she mentioned the box.

After working within this building for so long, and having a close relationship with the owners of the building – Diana's family – Kloppman had heard much about the box. Not that he needed to hear the bits of information that Ariadne had let slip after years of trying to force the spelled box open; Kloppman knew more about that box than even Ariadne, Arianrhod or their mother, Étaín, knew. In fact, the only thing he didn't know about the box was what exactly Les Jacobs had stuck inside it all those years ago. All he knew about it was that it was something that might make this mess even messier.

_Diana is the one. She can open the box._ He felt almost foolish at his own oversight. It had been one of his jobs to make sure that the box was never opened but, in the years that had followed, he had forgotten about it from time to time. Unfortunately for all those involved, Ariadne had not and she proved it just then by offering the box to her niece.

That's when Kloppman snuck away from the den in favor of his own small bedroom within the penthouse. Ariadne had offered him an apartment of his own many times but Kloppman preferred the small room that had been his for decades. She didn't know it but he felt better knowing that he wasn't that far from the women of the family just in case _something _happened. When you've been cursed by the Devil, himself, it didn't hurt to be cautious.

* * *

Not surprisingly, after Diana had gone to her room, with the box, and Ariadne had shuffled off to her own, the master bedroom, Kloppman had a visitor. It was not the first time that there had been a visit; he was sure that until the century was finally spent, it would not be the last.

He had already changed into his long light-blue nightdress and had just slipped off his tattered blue slippers at the side of his bed when he felt the familiar chill that heralded the boy's arrival.

"Hey Kloppy," his voice called out before the slight pop announced Jack Kelly's appearance. Still dressed in the same faded clothes he had been found in all those years ago, the only thing that was difference from Kloppman's memory of the boy was the wide smile. He was smiling. "So, what happened?"

Kloppman sat down on his bed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jack. Things have gotten a little complicated."

Jack crossed his legs and began to float mid-air, hovering so that he was sitting slightly higher than Kloppman's eye-level. "What do you mean, 'complicated'?"

"Ariadne talked to Diana about you."

As possible as it was, the ghost paled. "I take it that good ol' Ria didn't have anything nice to say, did she?"

The old man shook his head. "You know how she felt about you Jack. Of course she's going to take it all out now – she has had almost eighteen years to stew on it."

Jack nodded, his shaggy brown hair flopping forward to cover his face. It was hard for him to know that someone didn't like him – even alive, Jack Kelly was under the impression that _everyone _adored him. "Well, how did the kid take it?"

Kloppman shrugged. "Diana really didn't say anything about it. She just wanted to go to bed but…"

"'But', what, Kloppy?" he asked, honing in on the butler's hesitation.

"Ariadne gave her the box." He did not need to elaborate on the box; Jack knew all about it. In fact, the blood seal that crossed the box was not only there to keep the wrong girl from opening it. It was there to keep Jack from stealing it away. Les, of course, knew what Jack was like; he was aware that, given the opportunity, Jack would snatch it away and his descendant would never know the truth.

Jack nodded slowly before pushing his hair out of his eyes. When he did, Kloppman caught the steely glint that came to his chocolate-brown eyes. There was no mistaking that look. Jack had a plan.

* * *

"Alright, this is what you got to do, Kloppy. Just go over to the door and listen to see if Diana has opened the box yet. When she has, you go in there and distract her. Talk about the weather or something. When she's occupied, listening to an old man talk nonsense, I'll take whatever was inside the damn thing. Got it?" Jack asked, though, for all intents and purposes, it seemed like no one said it. As the pair stood in the hallway that led to Diana's room, Jack had purposely gone invisible; only Kloppman, in his nightdress and slippers, was visible. There came a small crash from inside the room and he found that his head was turned in that direction before he shook it and focused on the task at hand.

Kloppman began to pace. He wasn't sure if he should go along with this plan. _Is it considered cheating_? The last thing he wanted to do was anger the Devil any further. "I don't know, Jack," he began before, accidentally, bumping into a decorative table that Ariadne had in the hallway. The table made a slight _thump _noise before Kloppman steadied it and began to pace again.

"Trust me, Kloppy," Jack said, in a voice that was meant to be reassuring. Kloppman couldn't help but grow even more nervous.

The butler shrugged and shuffled over to the door. The breeze that sent the white wisps of hair he had left told him that Jack was accompanying him. He bent down slightly and was able to hear Diana as she spoke out loud.

"Oh, how I wish that Jack Kelly was here right now," he heard and he could almost feel Jack gloating at her words, "because, my goodness, I just remembered something about that girl. That Stress of his." At that, Kloppman felt the slight shiver that the ghost emitted. The mention of Stress had not gone by Jack either. "Yeah, she said something about danger and stuff when I saw her in the photograph…"

At that, Kloppman, still bent down, tuned out what it was Diana was saying. His focus was on the specter that was floating right above him. Though still invisible, Kloppman could sense how Jack was feeling. "Jack, remember the box," he whispered. If the ghost boy lost his sense just then, they would never be able to get the box away from Diana.

Just then the door opened. Kloppman was surprised to see Diana standing there, her hand clasped tightly around the knob. She was almost as surprised to see him.

Immediately he straightened himself up. He pushed his wire-rim glasses up his nose and smiled sheepishly. "Why, hello, Miss Mason," he said as he felt the chill above him fade. Jack had entered the room.

Kloppman was only too aware at how inappropriate this meeting was. The girl, dressed in a tank top and boxer shorts, was near naked. He averted his gaze and hoped that Jack had the decency to do the same. He doubted it though; one of the downsides of being eternally eighteen was the endless amount of hormones he had. Kloppman knew the girl was waiting for some sort of explanation. Old butlers do not just appear outside the door of young girls without a good reason. He cleared his throat. "This is not what it looks like, Miss," he said, lamely.

He could almost hear the disbelief in her voice. "Oh, really?"

He shook his head, sadly. Before he could say anything else, he uttered the four words that he felt summed up his feelings exactly. "I'm sorry, Miss Mason."

"What?" she asked, and he could tell she was confused.

Still averting her eyes, Kloppman spoke. He felt it would be smarter to change the subject. Maybe if she was confused, he would get a truthful answer out of her. "I overheard you and Ms. Ariadne earlier, Miss. I was wondering if you had gotten around to opening the box that she gave you." He hoped Jack had heard the question. It would make his search – considering they didn't know exactly what Les had placed in the box – all the easier. If she hadn't opened it yet, then there was no reason to look in the room.

Diana shook her head slowly. "No, Mr. Kloppman. I was admiring the simplicity of the design and I was just going to ask Aunt Ria who made it," she said.

It was nice to hear someone comment on the box; for all the simplicity of the design, it had taken ages to make. "I was just on my way to the bathroom and I thought I heard a small crash," he added. _If she thinks I was heading to the bathroom and not lurking around her room then maybe she won't be so wary of me. Or tell her aunt._

"Oh, that. I was holding the box up to my eye and I thought I saw a spider on it, so I dropped it. It fell on the floor," she said. For the first time during their brief conversation, Kloppman got the distinct impression that she was lying to him.

Nevertheless, he nodded and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Did the box open when it fell?" He tried not to sound too eager when asking the question. He would be quite annoyed if it did.

"No," she answered, but he could tell that she was wondering why he wanted to know.

"Oh," he answered and he had to work hard to make sure the relief stayed out of his voice. _So the spell is still holding after all these years_. Then, because he had nothing else to add to the conversation, and Jack would be done already considering the box hadn't been opened yet, he said his farewell. "Well, Miss Mason, I should be off to bed. Sleep well."

"Thank you, Mr. Kloppman," she answered, and she sounded relieved now.

He turned to leave her alone but found he couldn't yet. He would have a hard time going to sleep if he didn't try to set one thing straight. Luckily, the girl hadn't turned to go back in the room yet. "Miss Mason?"

"Yes?"

He sighed. He wasn't sure if Jack was going to like what he was going to say – or Ariadne, for that matter. "Your aunt had it rough when she was younger. She and her sister had a lot of troubles and Ms. Ariadne sometimes likes to place the fault on other parties." There, let the young girl figure out what that means.

He then turned to head down the hallway and smiled to himself when he felt the breeze that was Jack pass over his head. He had been wondering if the boy would stay in Diana's room.

* * *

Jack was quite upset that, when Kloppman occupied Diana so that he could get to the 'Fate' box, the girl had not opened it yet. The cedar box with its faded blood splotch and brass clasp was resting on Diana's bed, sealed. Jack tried to lift it up but couldn't; the blood seal that protected the box remained in tact. He could not get closer than two inches to the box.

So, with a huff, Jack floated out of Diana's room. _I'll have to go back later_, he thought and blew down upon Kloppman's balding head as he passed. The old man got his hint and bowed himself out of the girl's presence.

The two men accompanied each other back to Kloppman's corner room. Once they were there, the butler slid off his slippers and climbed back into his bed; it was a late night for him and he needed his rest. Jack, still in the air, crossed his legs and hovered.

He waited by Kloppman' bedside for a few hours; it was when he couldn't wait any longer that he transported himself to Diana's room.

She had fallen asleep with her light on. She must have been even extremely tired after the day because, not only was the light on, she hadn't even bothered to climb underneath her blanket. She was curled around the open box, huddling an old, ratty, stuffed deer.

Jack lowered himself down and, though he was still invisible – just in case – he approached the bed. Diana's face was partially hidden by her light-brown curls; he took the opportunity to get a better look at her, though. He brushed the mess of hair away from her face as gently as he could. She didn't wake.

He had been struck by her resemblance to Rhiannon immediately after he first saw her. Even if he hadn't known that she was the fourth generation Daite girl, he would have known just from that alone. The lips were the same shape and size, the face was the same oval shape. The hair was the exact same texture, even if it was a shade lighter.

But, at such a close range, he couldn't deny the similarity between this girl and _the _girl. He had told himself, starting with Rhiannon, that the slight resemblance was nothing more than wishful thinking. That the only reason why this family was tied to him was coincidence. That Rhiannon Daite being born on the exact date that _she_ had died was odd but not meaningful.

And, yet, here was Diana, more than the others, looking just like _she_ had. He couldn't help but note that, as she slept peacefully, she appeared just as _she _had the night _she_ had been murdered.

Jack sighed. He only had two months left; he couldn't start having these kinds of thoughts now. All he had to do was use this girl to find out what happened and then he'd be with _her _again. It did no good thinking pleasantly about Diana. He had gotten in trouble already by imagining that other Daite girls could replace _her_.

Shaking his head, Jack began to look for the box. _The box is the key_, he reminded himself and smirked when he saw the old wooden box lying on its side at the foot of Diana's bed. It was open.

_But what was inside?_

His smirk widened when he saw the simple black book that was resting beside the box. It was open, and was placed, face-down, on the pink blanket. Eagerly, Jack placed an invisible hand out and, turning it solid, reached for the book.

The book was opened to the first page. Jack wondered briefly if Diana had gotten any further than that before he turned his attention to the writing on the pages. It was written in a blocky print, in dark ink and, almost immediately, he recognized the writing. He didn't need the narrator's introduction to know that Les Jacobs had written down his memoirs.

He quickly scanned the first page and stopped just where Diana had. _Les knew the truth? All this time and he never told me? _He almost couldn't believe it.

Then a snuffle came from Diana and Jack realized that he didn't have time to read Les' book now. What if Diana woke up? Quickly he slipped the black book inside his vest pocket. But, when he did, he found that another book was already resting inside there. He drew it out and was surprised to see a similar book to the one that had been inside the box.

He looked at it for a second before remembering the night before, when Diana had picked this book off of the dresser next to her bed and had thrown it at him. He opened that book up and was pleased to see that the first page was blank. _Must be a book that one can write in_, he thought and placed it down on the bed. _All I have to do is switch these two and she'll never know._

Jack placed the blank book down on the bed, opened to the first page. Then, he placed Les' book inside his vest again – it fit this time.

But, in order to make sure that she didn't remember anything she had read – if, indeed, she had read more than that first page – Jack leaned down and blew gently in her ear. At once, a smile came to Diana's face.

Jack smirked and snapped his fingers once. He was gone in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Author's Note: _Lucky number thirteen, eh? I don't know if you've guys seen it mentioned before – specifically in the author's note to _Ballad_, but I've been thinking about putting this story on hold. It is, as Garen put it, as thick as pea soup right now and I'm worried that people aren't even following this story anymore. This story is – by no means – anywhere close to being finished and I wonder if I'm just rushing it because I'm frustrated by the lack of response._

_That doesn't mean that I'm giving up. I'm just debating whether or not I should take a break rather than make myself update weekly. But don't mind me – I'm just ranting. I didn't get any sleep last night – I got to play nursemaid to my 20 year old sister. Fun._


	14. XIV

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

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**a Maldição de Diabo**

July 2, 2006

* * *

PART FOURTEEN

* * *

_It started off quite strangely. She was walking alone, and it was dark; she was inside and, vaguely, she recognized her surroundings: she was on the staircase that led up to the penthouse her aunt owned. Considering she had only walked these stairs when she was younger and enjoyed running up the many flights between the ground floor and her aunt's apartment, it was odd that she remembered what the narrow room with the brown steps looked like. But, with the certainty awarded to a dreamer, Diana knew that's where she was. What she didn't know was _why _exactly she was there – or _how _exactly she had gotten there. _The last thing I remember was that book and then going to sleep…

_She wanted to stop and run downstairs but, at the same time, she wanted to race up the last few flights so that she was safe inside her borrowed room. She felt torn and, rather than think of what she was doing, she continued on her path. Her feet soon led her up to the last step and the door marked 'penthouse'. With a shaking hand, Diana reached out and pushed the fire exit door open. She left the stairwell behind and entered the lobby the separated the elevator from Ariadne Cearr's front door._

_The first thing that she noticed was that the door was a different color than the door she had entered a few short hours ago; where it used to be white, it was now yellow. Diana shook her head. There was no light in the lobby – _Aunt Ria must have turned them off after she and Kloppman went to bed – _but, even so, she was sure that the door was yellow and not white. She felt a shiver go down her spine. Now, more than before, she didn't want to enter back in the apartment._

_Before she could back out of the room and re-enter the stairwell, the yellow door creaked open. From her position in the dead center of the lobby, Diana couldn't see who it was that opened the door but she _did _hear a familiar voice yelling: "Ria, I can't do this any more. Fate or no fate!" Diana's mouth almost dropped open – it was her mother. _What's Mom doing here?

_She took a step forward, eager to hear her aunt's reply. She heard someone sigh and assumed it was Ariadne. Then she answered her sister. "Roddy, I don't think we have a choice, here. Jack says—"_

"'_Jack says'?" erupted Arianrhod – Roddy. "'Jack says'? I am sick and tired of listening to what 'Jack says'. How the hell do I know that there even is such a 'Jack'? Are you sure he's not just a figment of your imagination?"_

_Diana could tell from the awkward pause that followed that her mother had hit a nerve with her sister. When Ria spoke next, the emotion was gone from her voice. She sounded cold. "You know damn well that there's a 'Jack'. Just because you can't see or hear him like I can, it doesn't make him imaginary."_

_Roddy was not put off by Ria's tone. "Yeah, if he's so real, than how come Mother had no idea who we were talking about? If this 'Jack' of yours said that he spent all those years with Mother, then why doesn't she remember anything? Huh?"_

"_I don't know. Maybe you forget or something? How am I supposed to know? I've never dealt with a ghost who had a vendetta before, you know."_

"_And I have? Come on, Ria. I don't know how but this has got to be some kind of scam."_

"_Scam, Rod? You come on. Are you telling me those visions you had were just 'scams'? You told me that you _saw _things in those pictures. Were you lying?"_

_Another silence followed. Diana took the opportunity to edge closer; while everything she heard in the brief argument rang true, she couldn't help but feel that something was dreadfully wrong about this whole situation. _

_She tiptoed inside the open apartment and only vaguely noticed the change in décor. While the apartment she was used to was decorated in a classy motif, with lots of blacks and whites, and glass furniture, this house was styled in a retro fashion. The differences nagged at her but she kept moving forward. Somehow, she knew that her aunt and her mother would be in the den where she had sat with Aunt Ria only a few hours earlier._

_Then, with the realization that caused her heart to leap into her throat, Diana saw that she wasn't alone in the hallway. There, waiting just outside the door to the den, stood Kloppman. Hunched over in the darkness, his ear turned towards the open door in order to eavesdrop on the women's conversation, Diana would recognize his silhouette anywhere. He looked exactly as he did, ratty blue slippers, nightshirt and all, as he did when she said goodnight to him such a short while ago._

_Diana was sure that she let out a gasp of surprise but Kloppman didn't move from his spot. Feeling rather daring, Diana coughed slightly. Again, he didn't stir. _What the… _She moved closer, more sure now that Kloppman was either ignoring her or just didn't see her there at all. Again, with the certainty that was awarded to the dreamer, Diana all of a sudden knew that she was invisible. She wasn't _really _there._

_She felt better just then; now that she wasn't afraid of being caught listening in on her mother and her aunt, Diana let her curiosity get the better of her. Before she knew it, she was standing inside the den._

_The room was illuminated with a tacky brown and yellow checked lamp that stood on the wooden coffee table. Her eyes were temporarily blinded by the unexpected light but, when she was finally able to see, she almost couldn't believe what she saw._

_There was a pair of girls – _teenaged girls – _facing off, one on each side of the room. Each one, mirror images of the other, was standing, hands on her hips. The one closest to Diana, dressed in a pair of bell bottoms and a white peasant blouse, her long curly brown hair draped around her shoulders, was glaring at her sister. The twin, wearing a pink nightgown, her own curls piled messily on top of her head – _she had been sleeping prior to the fight_, Diana knew – looked like she was trying not to cry._

_They were, without a doubt, Ariadne & Arianrhod Caerr. But, as Diana was having trouble understanding, they were not the forty-something women that Diana knew – these girls couldn't be more than seventeen years old. She was staring at the teenaged versions of the Caerr twins._

_Finally, after such a long silence, the dressed twin opened her mouth. Quietly, she answered her sister's question. "You know, Ria, maybe I was."_

_Ria, the sister in her nightclothes, was preparing to answer when a sudden wind came passing through the middle of the room. While the twins seemed unaffected by the hurricane-strength gale, Diana felt the force lifting her off her feet. She held her hands out in front of her and closed her eyes; she was afraid that the wind was going to blow her right through the wall._

_But nothing happened. It suddenly went quiet and the wind stopped. Diana felt herself dropping down and, when she warily opened her eyes, she saw that she was sitting in her room. She didn't know where she was, where she had been, or what had happened, but she saw Bambi lying on his side next to her. She reached for her stuffed toy and hugged him to her chest. The comfort that Bambi offered made Diana feel safer amidst her confusion._

_That's when she heard the laughter. She glanced upwards and, for just a brief second, she could have sworn that she saw Jack. He was sitting, cross-legged, on the air, smirking down upon where she sitting on the bed. Then she blinked and he was gone._

What the…

_Still holding tight to Bambi, Diana tried to remember what had happened. There was something about a box – a 'Fate' box – but what was it? She turned her gaze for the ceiling of her bedroom down to her bed; an open cedar box was resting at the foot of her bed. With her free hand, Diana reached for the box. The wooden texture of the box was smooth and familiar to her fingertips. How long had she held that box for before she opened it earlier? And what _had _been inside? She hadn't even remembered opening the box, but she must have because it _was _open. _

_She looked down again and saw the black book. _A book, that's right. It was a book – a simple black book. Why hadn't I remembered that it was a book? And there was something in the book, wasn't there? _Still in a dream-like state, Diana let the box fall from her hand. It fell off the bed and landed, on its side, on the floor. It stayed there, no longer a concern. The book was important. Or was it? Everything just seemed so fuzzy at the moment._

_She picked up the book with her left hand and was able to open it single-handedly without ever dropping Bambi. However, when the first page was revealed, there was nothing there. The page was blank._

_Blank…blank…blank…_

As she fell backwards on her bed, the black book dropped from her hand. It landed with the front cover open, the blank pages silently mocking the girl.

* * *

Diana awoke that morning, her head heavy and her mind's eye full of conflicting images. But, as soon as she was fully conscious, and her eyes were open, she could remember nothing from the night before. It was as if the memories just did not exist any further.

She must have fallen asleep quickly and slept soundly because she had fallen asleep without climbing underneath her blanket. Bambi was still resting on the bed, as was the old book that had been inside the 'Fate' box. But where was the box?

Diana brushed the mess of curls away from her face and, absently, let her fingers roam behind her in search of the hair-tie that must have escaped during the night. When her fingers found the piece of fabric, she used it to tie back her hair. Then she looked around her bed for the wooden box. It was no longer on the bed – where had it gone?

Out of the corner of her eye, Diana saw it. _I must have kicked it in my sleep_, she thought. It had fallen from the bed and was lying on the floor. She grabbed at it and, for a second, felt a tingle when her fingers made contact with the wood. The sensation did not last and Diana shook her head. _It's just a box_.

She plopped the box down and turned her attention to the book that had been inside the old wooden box. Her last memory of the night before had been of opening the book and reading the first few pages – but wasn't the book blank? Or had she just dreamed that?

_Something's not right_, she thought and, with a quick rub of her stuffed toy's worn head, Diana picked up the book. She took a deep breath – and almost chided herself at how silly she was acting – before flipping the book open.

The pages were blank.

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, as you can see, I'm still working on _Diabo. _I decided that this is – for now – my under-the-radar masterpiece. It may not be as popular as something else I'm doing, or get a bunch of reviews, but I remembered something; as flattering as it is to hear that people like the story – and it is flattering and totally appreciated – I remembered that the person I write for before anyone is me. And I like the story of Jack and Diana. So, rather than put this on hold while I still have ideas for it, I'll keep on going until I get writer's block._

_As for this chapter, this might answer questions – or it might create more. I think it's easier for me to follow because it's all in my head. But the whole scene between the Cearr sisters was something I've been planning for awhile. I just wasn't sure how to do it – I hope it works this way._


	15. XV

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

* * *

**a Maldição de Diabo**

July 9, 2006

* * *

PART FIFTEEN

* * *

With the stolen black book hidden safely inside his vest, Jack disappeared from Diana's room. His hand still raised and his fingers still poised to snap his exit, he appeared inside his hide-a-way a split second after leaving the Daite building. He had intended to stop off and visit Kloppman before he left – he was sure the old man, after all those years, would be interested to know what was kept in that blasted box – but he arrived in his nook instead. He was confused but, when he saw that he wasn't alone in the small room, he wasn't surprised.

There was a boy sitting on his bed, slightly shorter than he was. He was fashioned in the same sort of attire that Jack wore: faded brown slacks, a grey button-down shirt, a red undershirt peeking out from underneath the grey top shirt. He also had on a darker colored vest and a black bowler hat that kept his short, dark hair hidden from view.

When Jack appeared right before him, he lifted his hat up so that he could eye him. It was when he glanced over at Jack that one could see that he was nowhere near human as he masqueraded. His eyes, dark and dull while he was alive, were burning bright red. Jack knew from experience that if he stared into this boy's eyes long enough he could make out the swirling flames of Hell within their depths. It was not a pleasant experience. Eager to avoid it, Jack turned his face away. "What are you doing here?" he asked, placing his hand protectively over his vest. It would have probably been smarter if he hadn't done that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack watched as the boy, still sitting comfortably on Jack's bed, adopted an expression that Jack witnessed countless times when they were both alive: the boy smirked. "Cowboy," the visitor began, using a nickname that Jack hadn't heard in decades, "how have you been?"

Jack didn't bother with the niceties. "What are you doing here, Oscar? I still got two months left, you know." Oscar Delancey was a pain in the ass when they were both alive at the end of the nineteenth century; he was a bigger pain now that they were both dead. Jack knew why Oscar was there. He only came for one reason: because the Devil, himself, sent him.

Oscar nodded his head and pulled his hat back down. Jack turned back to face him. "I've been told by my Master that he almost got you early, Kelly. Don't you know the rules?" He lifted himself up into the air, floating like Jack had done earlier. Jack noticed the faint remainder of ash outlining where Oscar had just been sitting. The visitor stretched his legs out as he floated before setting down upon them. He was now standing beside Jack.

"Of course I know the rules," Jack retorted, dropping his hand from his vest. He tried to look innocent, as if he had done nothing wrong. Oscar was not buying it. He was shaking his head.

"You ain't allowed to talk about that broad, you know. That was one of the rules. You can do almost anything else but that, right Kelly? And, besides, you got that nice little family to help you out. Are you telling me that, with their help, you still can't figure it all out?" Oscar asked, taking another step closer to Jack. He was smirking again, though his hat hid his amusement. Even after a hundred years baiting Jack, he never tired of it. It almost made his early death – shot and killed at the hands of a hoodlum much braver and stronger than Oscar ever had the chance to become in life – worth it. Hell, Oscar didn't even mind Hell all that much. After all, it kind of smelt like New York did in the summer heat. If he closed his eyes to block out the flames, and held his ears to shut out the screams, it was almost as if he was back home.

Jack resisted the urge to hold his nose; being one of the Devil's henchmen, Oscar always smelt like brimstone. It was at times like these that he almost wished he didn't have the tendency to break rules. These visits were unbearable. "You know I haven't figured it out yet, Delancey. Why else am I still here?" Jack mumbled. He hated to admit his own failures to Oscar. "Because I like the living space?"

Oscar forced a laugh. It sounded almost as bad as fingernails being ran down the side of a chalkboard. _I guess there's not much use for laughing in Hell, _Jack smirked, trying to get the sound out of his head. Then, almost right away, the smirk slid off of his face. If he didn't solve _her _murder within the next two months, he was looking forward to an eternity of living in Hell. Worse yet, he doomed _her _to the same fate. "So, was it true, Cowboy? Did you really call out her name?"

Jack shrugged. The Devil knew everything already. What point was there in lying? "It was a mistake, alright. And you can tell him that, too. It's just been so long since I even heard it–"

"It was a dumb name if I remember correct. Don't know why you'd want to hear it," Oscar said nonchalantly. He knew that if there was one way, even after a hundred years, that he could get his old rival riled up, it would be by taunting him about the girl – _her. _

Jack tensed at Oscar's comment but kept his temper in check. The first time he swung at Oscar, the demon boy melted away his human form and became a standing flame just as Jack's fist made contact. It took him almost six months to grow his hand back after that. He knew that Oscar wanted him to hit him – so he wouldn't. Instead, he continued talking. If he kept the demon boy occupied, maybe he could get Oscar to let something slip. Surely, as the Devil's henchmen in this case – trusted enough to keep an eye on Jack and collect his soul at the end of the hundred years – he would know something – _anything _– about what happened to _her_. He had tried countless times to get any information out of Oscar Delancey. Maybe this time it would work. "I'm trying, Oscar, really I am. I _want_ to know what happened to her."

"So you can save your own skin?"

Jack tried to look innocent while making it obvious that that was what he was doing. "No, so I can save hers." He meant it – he really did – but it didn't serve to have Oscar know that. If the Delancey boy thought that Jack was lying, that he didn't care anymore about the girl, maybe he would be more apt to slip up.

But Oscar wasn't as dumb as Jack thought. One hundred years in the service of the Devil himself gave him an intelligence that Jack couldn't even comprehend. It wasn't a good sort of intelligence, granted – it was a cruel cunning and a wicked intuition that he inherited. Oscar just smirked. "Cowboy, don't think I'm one of those newsie brats that you use to control. I'm smarter than that, alright?"

_Damn it._ Jack nodded. "Sure, Oscar." He would have to try a different tactic and soon. The smell was making him lightheaded. He wasn't entirely sure if he would be able to spend all eternity breathing in such a vile and rank odor. But, then, Hell wasn't meant to be all peaches and cream, now, was it?

To Jack's immense – and obvious, considering he let out the breath he had been holding – relief, Oscar stepped away from him and retook his place on Jack's bed. He lowered his gaze as he fumbled around the pockets of his own vest for a moment before pulling out a red stick. He placed it in his mouth and Jack understood – it was some sort of cigarette. Oscar lifted his hand to the end of the stick and, with a blink of his eyes, a small flame appeared at the end of his pointer finger. He lit the red stick; once the end glowed orange, he shook his hand and the flame vanished. Jack watched in a morbid sort of curiosity as Oscar inhaled before breathing out a mouthful of dark, thick smoke.

Oscar looked up and saw that Jack was watching him smoke his red stick. "Devil's own," he said, proudly. "You get one after every tenth soul you bring in."

Jack couldn't help but to ask: "How many souls have you brought in, Delancey?"

Oscar's lips widened and Jack could see that the red stick caused his teeth to become bloody. It was a disgusting sight. "Let's just say, I'm never out of _Red Death_."

Red Death? _How fitting._ "Lovely," Jack muttered. He wasn't sure exactly how they had reverted back to the one subject Jack wanted to avoid: losing his soul.

Oscar let out another lungful of smoke before removing his _Red Death _from his lips. He left it resting between his fingers. "Cowboy, my Master sent me here with a proposition today. It's about your latest helper."

_Diana_. Jack narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "What about her?"

"Just remember that my Master knows all, so don't try none of your lies," Oscar warned once before flicking his ashes onto the wooden floor. The ash, while grey and black as it fell, enflamed once it made contact with the ground, burning small holes into the wood.

Jack nodded. If there was one thing he knew already, it was that the Devil _did_ know everything. His near-disappearing act earlier that afternoon was a prime example. Her name had only just passed his lips when the Devil began to call on his soul.

"My Master is a fair Being. He is prepared to offer a trade," Oscar announced, before taking another drag off of his stick.

"A trade for what?" Jack replied, sounding cautious. He was much more in control of his voice than he thought he would be; his insides were beginning to shake at this point of the conversation. He had made a deal with the Devil once before and where had it gotten him? Nearly one hundred full years had passed since she had died and he still knew nothing about what happened beside the fact that she was murdered. And he knew that that first night.

Sure, he knew whatever information that the Daite girls could glean from their visions of the past. But he only had so many photographs from the years before his death. The mounds of pictures he had that documented the twentieth century were only good to help the later generations get caught up on what Jack had lived – _existed_ – through.

Until that day, at least. None of the earlier girls had ever seen a vision from the picture he had of Stress and Fae but Diana had.

_Diana had._

With a jolt, Jack knew exactly what Oscar was proposing. A moment after, Oscar confirmed it. "My Master is willing to trade _her _soul for Diana Mason's soul. Simple as that. You hand the fourth generation girl over to me and my Master will let go of the claim he has on your girl's soul."

Out of habit, Jack ran his hand through his thick brown hair. It was a tempting deal and one that the Devil had never made before. One of the Daite girls for _her._ He wouldn't even need to spend the next two months fighting with Diana to get her to help solve a century-old murder.

But could he really do that? Could he really sell out the great-granddaughter of Rhiannon Daite? After all those years spent with a Daite girl by his side, could he sacrifice the last of their line to appease his soul?

_His soul._

Oscar had said nothing about his soul. He had only mentioned _her _soul. "Oscar," he began, somewhat hesitantly, "if I… _give_… you Diana – what would happen to me?"

Oscar lifted his head, his hand paused a few inches away from his mouth. He had just been about to finish the last bit of his _Red Death _when Jack asked his question. He hadn't expected the ghost boy to catch on so fast. The Devil had underestimated him. "You'd be free, of course," he lied, without a trace of guilt. He was, after all, a demon now. Why should a silly little thing like a lie bother him? He had done what the Devil told him to do – offer Jack one soul for the other. He hadn't given any instructions what to do if Jack started asking questions. Since Oscar had known him in life as well as death, the Devil had let him handle this case.

Jack knew that Oscar was lying. There was enjoyment written on his face that hadn't been there earlier. Oscar was serious when doing the work his Master trusted him with; he enjoyed himself when he was doing something vicious. He shook his head. "I'll free _her _on my own," he said.

Oscar's enjoyment was gone in an instance. The Devil didn't expect a negative reply to his proposal. Nor would he accept it. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Jack's voice wavered a bit but he was resolute. They would be together, either way, whether in Heaven – preferably, of course – or in Hell. He couldn't sell out Diana to save _her_, especially if it meant that his time on Earth would be done and he would be doomed to spend all eternity in Hell – with Oscar Delancey. After the last century of searching out _her _murderer, he wasn't going to quit now. He still had two months. He would find _her_ murderer and set _her _free. He would set them both free – without making another deal.

Oscar dropped the red stick on the ground, and ignored the sizzling it made upon hitting the floor. "Jack, I will lay this offer open for one month," he said, sounding official all of a sudden. The familiarity that came with over a century of exchanging banter was gone. "At the close of that month, I will return and expect a different answer. I'm sure that with only one month left to save your _love_," he said, enunciating the word strangely, as if it hurt to say it, "you might want to you change your mind. Remember one soul for another. And then you're free."

At the close of the last word, a thunder clap was heard and Oscar was gone, leaving a darker patch of grey on the blanket, and a larger burn in Jack's floor.

* * *

Author's Note: _So, there it was: chapter fifteen. Even on PotC2 weekend, I was still able to get my Sunday chapter out. I am so proud of myself. And, as for me, I've now seen the 2nd movie 3 times, woot. I was a huge Potc1 fan and have been waiting ages for this. So, I blame this chapter on being overdosed with supernatural mythology this weekend. The word 'soul' is beginning to bother me now :)_

_Oh, and don't get confused over the length. If you thought Jack had four months but now only has two – you were right. I realized a rather large oversight on my part and corrected it; however, in the process, Jack lost two months. It is now June of 1999 – Jack has until August 3, 1999 to solve the murder. Just in case you were following the story._


	16. XVI

Author's Note: _In spite of a broken laptop, deleted files/outlines/chapters and a severe case of writer's block, I finally have the next chapter of _Diabo _out. Honestly, I had no idea where I was going with this story at this point. I was totally lost until this morning, so yay! I had the first four or so paragraphs written for a week and a half and the rest just wouldn't come. But, as you can see, I got over the writer's block and I have a good sense of what's going on right now. The next chapter will be out on Sunday, like usual._

_Oh, and I realize now that I never explained the significance of Bambi. According to Wikipedia, this is why: _Diana, the Roman Goddess, is usually depicted with a deer. This is because Diana was the patroness of hunting. It is also a reference to the myth of Acteon, a prince who saw her bathing naked. Diana transformed Acteon into a deer and sent his own hunting dogs to kill him. _Thus the continual mentions of Bambi, the stuffed deer of Diana Mason's._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner._

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

July 25, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART SIXTEEN

--

Diana closed the book immediately and shoved it inside the open wooden box. She then shut the lid, using her thumb to ensure that the clasp was down. Something about the whole 'Fate' business made her incredibly uneasy. T_hat dream had been so real. I could have sworn that I was _there _with Mom and Aunt Ria. And why do I keep getting the feeling that the book isn't _supposed _to be blank?_

Using her right hand, Diana rubbed her temple. She had only been in New York for two nights and she was earning a migraine. Everything was just too confusing and most of it seemed like a dream – _No, _she thought crossly, _a damn nightmare_. Her left hand reached over her and found the worn plush toy. Bambi made everything better.

Holding the stuffed animal to her cheek, Diana thought back to her dream. She knew it was a dream but it had seemed so _real _to her. She sighed and dropped her left hand so that she could read the time on her watch. It was already half past ten.

The strange dreams she had had made the night seem so short; she assumed that it was still early and she would be able to speak to her aunt before she went off to work. But, if it were already ten-thirty in the morning, Ariadne would have left the penthouse two hours ago. Even though it was Saturday, Diana knew her aunt would have gone the office. Her six-day work week was one of the reasons why Diana and her family rarely saw Ariadne.

Diana stretched just then and tried to turn her thoughts to happier notions. For one thing, her aunt hadn't woken her up like she had the day before. Without her aunt around to make any rules, Diana could go out and explore the City the way she wanted to when she first arrived. And, even better for the girl, the ghost boy was nowhere in sight. Her vacation can truly begin.

With her arms stretched over her head, Diana caught a whiff of her own body odor. _Phew_, she thought as she quickly dropped her arms to her sides. She had gone to bed in a tank top and had no defense between her nose and her armpits. _I haven't showered in two days,_ she realized as she got out of bed. _I was too excited to come visit Aunt Ria on Thursday and then yesterday…Stupid Jack, he didn't even let me shower before dragging me to that stupid room of his. _Diana huffed and threw the pink comforter back on the bed, covering the old wooden box and her stuffed toy. _I'll make the bed up later_, she promised herself.

Since she still hadn't had the chance to unpack her clothes, Diana reached inside the closest suitcase on the floor and rummaged around. She pulled out her underclothes, a fresh light blue tank top, a pair of jeans and her toothbrush. _I'll borrow Aunt Ria's toothpaste and shampoo_, she thought before flipping the lid of the suitcase down. She kicked the case partially under the bed. She'd have to unpack sooner or later, too.

Cradling her clothes against her chest, Diana slipped out of her room. Her room was at the end of the hallway so, as she entered into the hall, she turned left to make sure she was alone. After coming across the butler, Kloppman, lurking in the hallway once already – twice if you count her dream – she would not have been surprised to find him standing there.

Fortunately, she was alone. Diana let out a quiet sigh of relief and hurried down the hall. The shower was just on the right, the bathroom being the room across from the entrance to the den. She entered the room and, after placing her clothing down on the edge of the sink, she locked the door behind her.

The bathroom was much larger than the one she was used to at home. There was a sink with a mirror over it, and an ornate cabinet underneath. The toilet was on the other side of the room, with a white wire rack extended above it holding all manners of soap and lotions. On the opposite side of the entrance, a large porcelain tub stood; it doubled as a shower, with a rosy shower curtain draped across the length of the tub. Diana almost rejoiced at the sight. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than a hot shower.

--

Long after Oscar had vanished from the small room, Jack remained lying on his bed. Luckily, the smell left behind when the demon left had evaporated so that it wasn't as uncomfortable to rest on the bed – even though the ash left behind on the quilt refused to be scattered.

He was quite agitated at Oscar's visit; he was so annoyed that, rather than lie _on _the bed, he was floating a good two feet above the mattress. The book he had stolen from Diana's room remained in his vest pocket. He had almost forgotten about it. He was too busy thinking about the Devil's newest proposition.

After a long night of thinking, Jack was still convinced that nothing the Devil had to offer was worth it. His own naivety had led him to strike a deal with the Lord of Hell all those years ago. As it was, he only had two more months until his century was up and the Devil came to collect his soul. The only upside to all of that was that he would finally get to see _her _again – even if it is in Hell.

Just when it seemed that he had almost resigned himself to squandering those last few precious days and waiting for his soul to be drawn downward, he heard a quiet rustling within his room followed by a plaintive mew.

Jack turned his head slightly to the left and saw the furry face of Four peering at him. The cat had climbed up on the closest stack of papers next to Jack's bed and the pile lent her a height that brought her up to Jack's level. With only a foot or so separating the ghost and his cat, he could see the pinkish brown nose jutting out from the brown and grey face, sniffing at him. Her bluish-green eyes were staring at him, unblinking, as she opened her mouth slightly and mewed again.

He reached one of his rough hands out to pat her head. He had been so busy worrying about all of his problems that he had forgotten about his pet. Just like the other three cats he had before her, Four hated it when Oscar visited. The smell that accompanied the demon was vicious and near intolerable to the cat's senses.

But when he reached for her, Four leapt down from the stack of papers and photographs. She landed with a soft thump against the wooden floor and proceeded to rest on her haunches, wrapping her tail around her front paws. She continued to stare up at the floating ghost but, this time, when she meowed, it was not as pitiful as it had been before – it almost sounded as if she were scolding him.

Now, he would never admit it to Diana, but he had had the strange feeling before that his pet cats were almost human. However, when none of the other girls had ever thought anything strange of One, Two or Three, Jack chided himself for seeing help when there was none. He had long since resigned himself to trying to solve the murder with only the help of the Daite girl of the moment. The cats he had were only good as companions during the long years when he was alone.

Of the four pets he had owned since becoming a ghost, Four had the strongest personality of them all. She cried when she didn't get enough attention and hissed when he interrupted her sleep. And, when she disapproved of something that he was doing, she let him know it – just like now.

Slowly, Jack drifted down to his bed. Once his back was resting against the crumpled quilt, he sat up and turned to face Four. He swung his legs onto the floor, landing each one on a different side of the brown tabby cat and met her eye. "What?" he asked, more harshly than he meant to. She was just a cat, after all – right?

The look in Four's eyes at that moment almost made Jack second guess his assessment. No animal could ever look that haughty. Then, in a blink, the look was gone and Jack was wondering if his century long quest had finally driven him mad. He dropped his head down in his hand and groaned. Life – and death, for that matter – wasn't supposed to be this hard.

It was then, with his head looking down onto the floor, that he saw that there was a picture resting under one of Four's front paws. He cocked his head to the side and squinted, trying to make out the subject of the picture. He couldn't really tell – it wasn't one of the better preserved pictures – so, rather than stare at it, he extended his hand to the floor and picked it up.

When Four saw his fingers reaching for the photograph, she meowed once and lifted that exact paw off of the floor. Then, as a cat is wont to do, she saw a dust bunny peeking out from underneath Jack's bed and raced off to battle with it. Jack shook his head at her antics before lifting the picture up to his eyes. "And I thought you might be a person," he snorted at the playful cat. She had been his companion for the past fifteen years – a long life for a cat – and was still as playful as the day he found her, inexplicably, sleeping curled up on his bed.

Jack blinked once and focused his eyes on the photograph. It was dark and the contrast was off but, at this proximity, he could make out the image. There were two people in the dead center of the picture. His smile was crooked as he saw himself and his girl, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder, posing for the camera. He remembered that day; David had been convinced that he would become a famous photographer and had bought a cheap camera. This was one of the first pictures he had ever taken and it wasn't very good. But, since it was one of three pictures taken of him and her alone, he had kept it. _Why don't I have this picture in my pocket?_ He kept five pictures in his pockets at all time: one of Rhiannon, one of Étaín, one of the twins, the photo of him and the boys the day of the strike and the best picture of the pair of them together. It had been shortly after she agreed to be his girl and the happiness was evident on both of their faces. She died a few months later.

The second picture of the two of them together was hidden under his pillow. It was larger than most of his other pictures and, even if he had the heart to carry it around, he couldn't. It had been a picture from David – he got the picture developed in a fancy camera shop so that it was blown up bigger. He gave the portrait size photo to Jack the evening following her murder. Jack couldn't bring himself to look at it much so he kept it hidden – but hidden in a place close to him.

_So why was this on the floor? _And that's when he focused on a third presence in the photo. Just off to the right, halfway cut off, was Oscar Delancey. Either by accident or purposely, his face was kind of blurred and smudged. He had tried to jump into the picture of the two of them just as David's flashbulb went off and his grimace was immortalized in the photo. _That's why I don't like this picture_, he remembered. He didn't like Oscar at all when they were both alive and the dislike intensified after they both died. After Oscar was killed, only three years into Jack's quest, any mention of the demon made him as sick as it was possible for a ghost to become. He only had a few years with the girl he loved yet he had almost a century with a man he hated. It wasn't fair.

He huffed and let the picture drop from his fingers. He didn't need any other reminders of what lay in store for him. The picture, in turn, drifted down and landed at the edge of his bed, covering up one of the burns left by Oscar's most recent visit. And, when Four, still batting at the invincible ball of dust, came stalking by the picture a few moments later, her tail seemed to knock the photo under the bed.

_Out of sight, out of mind._


	17. XVII

Author's Note: _Consider this a bit of comic relief. I felt that this story was getting so filled with supernatural drama and mystery that I might as well throw a bit of humor in to lighten the situation – though, I tell ya, next chapter is going to have some interesting things to deal with, especially after the way this chapter ends. Poor Diana._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. The lyrics used in this chapter are from the song, 'Genie in a Bottle' by Christina Aguilera._

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

July 30, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART SEVENTEEN

--

Shortly after looking at that picture of him, _her _and Oscar, Jack got an idea. In a way, he had that demon, the same Oscar Delancey, to thank for inspiration; after he had offered _her _soul salvation in exchange for Diana Mason, Jack had realized that Diana was much more special than he had first thought upon seeing the teenager. And it all came back to a certain picture. _It always seems to come back to a damn picture. __Why couldn't I have collected stamps or something? Or written in a diary?_

The mention of a diary should have been enough to remind Jack about the pilfered book that was currently residing inside his vest's pocket but, as his mind was already concerned with a plan, it was still forgotten.

Instead, Jack finally got off of his bed and reached for the same package of photographs that he had shown to Diana the day before. After she had fainted following her vision of Fae and Stress, he had delicately restacked the pictures and held them close to him; when she had left, shortly after her spell, he had replaced the knotted twine that held them together and had placed them on the other side of his room, just in case. Apart from the pictures he kept with him, and the portrait he kept under his pillow, these were the most precious photos in his entire collection. These were the photos of his friends, long before each and every one of their deaths. _She _may have been the first of them all to die, and Honor Williams may have been the last, but they had all died and only he remained.

It was lonely being a ghost.

He shook his head stubbornly as he tucked the photographs under his arm. Time was too precious to him and he did not have any extra of it in which to waste on pitying himself. He would have all eternity to do so if he failed in his quest. Oscar's appearance the night before did nothing more than impress upon him the urgency in which he must tackle _her _unsolved murder. If Diana was so special that the Devil himself was looking to receive her, may she _would _be the one to help him finally learn the truth.

With his free hand, Jack patted the edge of the package lovingly. He used to think it was amusing to watch as one of the Daite girls looked at his pictures before losing themselves within a vision of the past. Rhiannon used to be so annoyed when he did that to her but, eventually, laughed it off. Étaín, who was always the dreamy, romantic of the girls, used to come out of her visions with flowery descriptions of what she saw and the urge to write poetry. Arianrhod, Ariadne's twin sister, had the worse reaction; because she could only see the pictures and not him, she would scoff off the visions as hallucinations brought on by experimental drugs. Ariadne had to convince her to share what she saw before bringing her sister's remarks to the ghost boy.

Thinking about Ria, Jack felt a twinge of remorse. If he only would have known then how screwy she would have turned out after their time together… _Hey, _he thought, inwardly trying to convince himself, _it's not my fault that Étaín went and had twins. How was I supposed to know that one twin could see me and the other could see through the pictures? Goddamn Devil._

For the second time, Jack shook his head. If he started to blame the Devil for everything he thought the Devil did to make his afterlife a mess, he would spend the next two months in his room, cursing at the terrible villain. No, he had to focus on the task at hand. He had to follow through with his plan – his idea.

So, Jack extended his arm and, using his left hand, snapped his fingers once. He had to get to Duane Street right away.

When he arrived inside Ariadne's penthouse apartment, he made sure to land within Kloppman's room rather than going straight to Diana's. It was Saturday and he knew that the old man would probably still be sleeping. He wanted to talk to him about Oscar and his plan before he saw Diana again.

Jack was right: Kloppman was still sleeping soundly, soft snores filling the small room with every breath he took.

The ghost boy went invisible and, after placing his faded and slightly crushed cowboy hat on his head – a personal security measure more than anything; he always felt better when wearing his old hat – he began to float upwards, pausing when he was about a foot from Kloppman's bed. He would wait until the man was fully awake before discussing his idea with him.

--

Kloppman loved Saturday more than any other day of the week. Saturdays were the only days that he really had to himself. Ms. Ariadne worked every day, Monday through Friday, but spent her evenings at home. On Sundays, his employer relaxed in the den with the New York Times and a nice Chianti. But on Saturdays, she went into the office for a few hours before heading out for a night on the town. He normally had the entire day to himself.

He wondered, briefly, when he woke up if he was to call on Miss Mason. She had gone to bed the night before without any supper – should he forsake his day off to make the young miss some breakfast?

The elderly butler felt guilty for his actions the night before; he had spied on the girl, listening to her from just outside her room, before stalling her long enough to allow Jack to enter her room and search for the wooden box's contents. Maybe a healthy portion of bacon and eggs would make him feel less like a fiend.

Just as he slid out from under his blankets and slipped his feet into his tattered blue slippers, Kloppman heard the faint echo of the shower. _I guess the girl is already up and about_, he thought as he remained sitting on his bed. Figuring that he might as well wait for her to finish showering before he left his room – God forbid he exited into the hallway at the precise moment that Diana did; he just hoped the girl didn't like to walk around in a towel – Kloppman leaned over and reached for his bathrobe. All of a sudden, it was quite chilly and he didn't really care to climb back into his bed.

The man stood up and shrugged the cotton robe unto his thin frame before sitting back down on the edge of his bed again. The faint chill reminded him of Jack, which only served to make him remember their antics of the night before. The ghost boy had snuck into Diana Mason's room and, though he looked while Kloppman occupied Diana's attention, he had returned empty handed; she hadn't opened the box yet. Jack had decided to try again later but Kloppman had chosen to fall asleep instead. After all, a man who was pushing one hundred and seventy five years of age needed plenty of sleep.

He assumed, when he woke up later the next morning, that Jack had given up and retired back to his own quarters. The boy was no longer waiting in his room and, since he had been floating beside Kloppman's bed when the old man fell asleep, he thought that Jack must have left without trying to steal whatever it was that Les Jacobs had hidden away. Because, surely, he had more than enough honor to stay away from the young girls room when she was sleeping…

He rubbed the back of his head before grabbing his glasses off of his nightstand. Pushing the wire frames up his nose, he felt an ironic smile forming. He had known Jack for too long now – and he wouldn't put it past him to do just that. "Oh, Cowboy," he murmured out loud, "what the blazes did you do, boy?"

There was a faint pop just then and the secret behind his earlier chill was revealed: Jack was there, hovering slightly above him, a playful smirk on his face. "What was that about me, Kloppy?"

Kloppman just shook his head. He should have known. "Morning, Jack," he answered. He tilted his head up so that he was eyeing the spirit. Jack was sitting cross-legged while hovering three feet from the floor. His old cowboy hat was perched familiarly atop his head and, in his right hand, he held a package of papers, kept together by a piece of brown twine.

Jack nodded in response before floating down gently. He continued in his descent until he was a foot above the floor where he then extended his feet so that he was standing like a normal person. Kloppman noticed that, once he was standing, the ghost boy tucked the package under his right arm. That wasn't the only thing that he noticed; when Jack was right in front of him, he caught a whiff of a strong and vile odor He sniffed once and started to wave a wrinkled hand in front of his nose. Jack looked slightly ashamed. "Yeah, I know," he said as he took a few steps back. The stench lessened with every step he took until he was leaning against the wall and Kloppman could breathe in fresh air again. "I had a visitor last night and," he said as he gestured to himself with his left hand, "I guess he lingers a bit."

Kloppman nodded his understanding. "Oscar again, Cowboy?" He, luckily, had not seen the Delancey boy since his death but, from Jack's descriptions, he was not missing out on anything. "What did you do this time?"

Jack shrugged. "I kind of, sort of, said_her_nameoutloud…" he mumbled.

The old man put one of his fingers in his ear and shook it a bit, trying to dislodge any wax that might keep him from understanding what exactly it was that Jack had just said. "Pardon?"

"I…said…_her_…name," Jack repeated, choosing to overly enunciate each word. He felt like a complete jackass now that he looked back on his own stupidity. If he hadn't been able to say the name in ninety-nine years, why would now be any different? Diana or no Diana?

_Diana._

Looking past the all-knowing expression on Kloppman's face – he was not in the mood to hear the lecture about how his actions can affect more people than just him; poor old Alfred Kloppman was a prime example of that, cursed to spend a hundred years tied to one building – Jack patted the pictures under his arm again. "Kloppy, where's the kid?"

For a moment, Kloppman wasn't so sure who exactly Jack was referring to. To a man his age, almost everyone he encountered was a kid. Then it dawned on him – Miss Mason. "She's in the bathroom, Cowboy. Why?" _He wouldn't…_

Jack quickly debated his two options: he could stay with Kloppman, discuss his plan and, inevitably, tell the old man about what happened the day before – including Oscar's visit and his nighttime foray into Diana's room – which would _definitely _result in a lecture or he could, now that he was in the penthouse, just go straight to Diana and get her to start helping him again. "I gotta go see her," Jack announced, making up his mind.

Kloppman was about to argue with Jack's decision – if it was improper to go inside a girl's bedroom when she was sleeping, if was even more so to visit her in the bathroom while she showered – but he never got the chance. As he opened his mouth to speak, he saw Jack lift his left hand. He only had enough time to blurt out what had been on his mind since he first saw that Jack was back in his room: "Hey, Jack, did you ever see what… was… in… the box…"

The elderly butler shook his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose. The boy, with his faithful popping sound, had disappeared mid-sentence.

_He would._

--

Ten minutes into her shower, the water was still running and steam from the hot water had long since caused the mirror perched over the marble-topped vanity to fog over. Diana, however, was enjoying the feel of the water pressure, hitting against the small of her back. She had decided, upon entering the lavish tub, that she would remain in there as long as the hot water lasted. It was that good.

To make it even nicer – and giving Diana another reason to never want to leave the pristine shower – her aunt had a waterproof radio hanging on the end of the shower rod. As soon as she had turned the silver knob, turning it in the direction of 'hot', and started the shower spray, she began to fiddle with the radio, switching the knob from 101.1 (_WCBS FM, the oldies station –_ _Oh, Aunt Ria…_) to 100.3 (_Z100, New York's hit music station, that's more like it_). The first song that played was an upbeat dance tune that she had never heard of but, nevertheless, caused her to try to sing along with.

At that point in her shower, after she had already washed her hair with White Rain shampoo and conditioner and used Dove soap to wash her skin, she was just relaxing under the jet spray of the hot water. After a few commercials, a catchy pop tune had started on the radio and, after a few notes, Diana recognized the song as that belonging to a brand new pop artist, Christina something or other. It was a fun song and she couldn't help but sing along with it.

"Oh whoa… My body's saying let's go… Oh whoa… But my heart is saying no… no…" On that last word, Diana held the note much longer than the original singer did but she was enjoying herself too much to care. And that's when she thought she heard a faint snicker.

The song was still playing in the background but Diana wasn't singing along with it anymore. All of a sudden, despite the warmth emanating from the hot water, she got a case of the chills. If she didn't know any better, if she wasn't so sure that she had locked the door behind her, she could have sworn that she was being watched. And what about that slight laugh, that snicker? Was it just something she thought she heard – or was someone in the bathroom after all?

Slowly, Diana poked her head outside of the shower curtain that she had drawn across the tub after climbing inside. Her green eyes searched the entire room yet she saw nothing. The door was still closed.

She almost felt assured that she was alone. _Almost_. That's when she remembered that she had spent the last two days in the company of an eighteen year old – _well, one seventeen, but that's getting technical _– ghost boy who could go invisible on a whim. Who's to say that he wasn't getting his kicks by spying on her now? She had to check. Or, at the very least, not be so naked any more.

She had placed her towel, one that her aunt had decorating the edge of the vanity top, on the lid of the toilet. Without turning the water off yet, Diana reached her arm out of the shower and brought the towel inside the stall. Trying not to drench the towel, she covered herself up before groaning. The towel was approximately half the size of a normal bath towel and only _just _wrapped around her. It stretched from the top of her breasts to the top of her thigh, covering all her essentials but only _just._

Shaking her head – and inwardly threatening anyone, man or ghost, who might have snuck into the bathroom – Diana turned off the shower. Playtime was over.

She stepped out of the shower and shuffled over to where she had left her clothes. With a sneaky look over her shoulder, Diana checked to make sure that no one else was really in the bathroom; her inspection revealed that no _man _was in the room – which, of course, was a relief. It had been creepy enough, seeing old Mr. Kloppman in his nightdress last night.

That, however, left ghosts. Just because Kloppman wasn't hiding in the bathroom, it didn't mean that Jack wasn't lurking around. But how do you tell if a ghost is near?

She didn't have to. As she reached for her clothing, eager to cover herself up further, she clearly heard a voice come from behind her: "What's that your body is saying, kid?"

Diana was so surprised at that moment – what with the boy's voice coming out from nowhere; though she thought that she wasn't alone, she hadn't really expected him to be so low as to follow her into the bathroom while _showering _– that she spun around to find the source of the voice. Unfortunately for the young girl, she spun around so fast that her hand slipped and she found that her hand was no longer holding tightly to the short towel.

The towel had fallen to the floor and she was standing there naked.


	18. XVIII

Author's Note: _Yay_ _for chapter number eighteen. And, sadly, that's all I have to say. I'm just so proud of this story. It's long and that makes me happy. I just wish more people would read and review but, meh. At least I like it._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo_ translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

August 7, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART EIGHTEEN

--

The towel remained on the floor for a good three seconds as Diana stood, frozen. Never mind the fact that she was totally revealed for anyone – or any ghost, particularly – to see. She was more concerned with finding the source of the voice – Jack's voice. "Where are you?"

Smartly, the spirit did not answer her. Instead, there was a faint hiss in the furthest corner of the bathroom, next to the porcelain tub; it sounded just like air escaping from a hole in a balloon.

Diana squinted her eyes accusingly towards the tub as she bent her legs and scooped up the fallen towel. She draped the cloth across her front, hiding her private parts from view, as she swiveled around and backed into the vanity. There was no way he could see her now if he was, indeed, still there.

She reached behind her and grabbed at her clothes. Her hand found the light blue tank top and, without losing her grip on the towel, Diana jerked it on over her hand; she didn't even bother with putting her bra on. That could wait.

Now that her top was covered, she lowered the towel and wrapped it around her waist. While the towel had been too short to cover her entirely before, it fit perfectly to cover her bottom. She quickly shimmied into her nice white – with little pink rosebuds – bikini-cut panties before slipping into her denim jeans. She tossed the pink towel to the side of the toilet and, without even zipping them or buttoning them closed, Diana reached for the bathroom door handle.

She was pretty sure that the ghost boy was still hanging around. She did not know if she had left him behind in the bathroom – he had not owned up to his presence but that did not mean he had left after seeing her nude – but she was positive he would show up eventually. After all, he only had two months left to solve a stupid mystery. He could not spend them hiding out because he got caught spying on her.

_And, when I find him, I'm going to kill him. _Diana was so flustered at that point that she totally forgot that Jack had died almost a hundred years ago and, therefore, could not be killed again.

Diana threw the door open and stepped into the hallway. Planting her hands on her hips, she let the water from her sopping wet hair drip onto the carpet behind her. "Jack! Jack Kelly!" she called, louder than she should have. She felt a twinge of guilt that, maybe, she was waking the elderly butler up but her anger far surpassed her guilty conscience at that moment. "Where the hell are you, Jack? You better come out now or you'll be even sorrier later," she threatened.

Not surprisingly, he did not rise to her threat. To be honest, Diana was not even sure just how much the ghost boy had seen. All she knew was that he had been in the bathroom while she was showering – while she was naked. And that was all she needed to know. "JACK!" she hollered, even louder. Her patience was wearing thin. Her shirt, soaked from her hair, was plastered against her back and making her even more uncomfortable.

That's when she heard a slight click – the sound that a door being opened makes – coming from her right. She turned her head at once, the ends of her wet curls almost slapping her in the face. Her green eyes were narrowed, her plump lips frowning as she waited for Jack to appear.

But, when someone rounded the corner and entered the hallway, it was not the ghost boy that she had been expecting; it was old Mister Kloppman, still dressed in his light-blue nightdress with a white robe covering it, still wearing his ratty blue slippers. He was pushing his glasses up his nose as he tied his robe around him. He did not see Diana right away and, when she called to him, the elderly butler jumped.

"Mr. Kloppman," she said, and she felt sort of bad when he jumped; she had not meant to frighten him but her ire had not retreated yet. And to top it all off, her hair, as it began to dry without being brushed or gelled, was beginning to frizz. _I'm seriously going to hurt that boy. I don't care how I do it,_ she thought before turning her attention to the confused looking butler. "I've got a big problem."

--

Alfred Kloppman remained, resting, on his bed. The white cotton bathrobe was keeping him warm and he did not feel the need to change just yet. Ms. Ariadne would not return, he knew, until much later in the afternoon. Miss Mason, surely, would want to explore the City after taking her shower – and that's if Jack hadn't already persuaded her to devote another day of her summer vacation to helping him in his quest.

The old man shook his head slowly. And _that _was only if Jack did not do the stupidest thing he could possibly do – namely follow Diana into the bathroom, and approach her as she showered – and get himself on the wrong side of the girl. The boy, even when alive, was not known for his smarts; he had friends, such as that Jewish boy Jacobs, to do the thinking for him. _Even after a century of being a ghost, Cowboy still hasn't learned much at all_.

Kloppman rose to his feet. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that trouble was inevitable. He began to pace, shuffling his old slipper-covered feet to and fro, across the carpeted floor of his bedroom. _Any moment now…_

Just then, the shower ended abruptly. Considering it was only a few minutes following Jack's departure, Kloppman new – he just new, somehow – that something was going on.

He was right. A few more minutes later and he heard the angry voice of his employer's niece. She was yelling almost at the top of her lungs and the elderly butler could make out the words: "Jack! Jack Kelly! Where the hell are you, Jack? You better come out now or you'll be even sorrier later."

_Uh-oh_.

If the girl was threatening the ghost boy, then Jack must have done something really bad. And, considering he knew that the boy had just followed her into the _shower_, it did not take a genius to figure out what happened.

The old man sighed, and despite the fact that he hadn't changed for the day yet and was still wearing his night clothes, Kloppman left his room. As he walked towards the bathroom, he heard Miss Mason yell a second time. "JACK!" She sounded even angrier than before. And, for the second time, she called out to the specter. She didn't seem to care that she was calling for a boy who no one – except for Kloppman, and she had no way of knowing that – could see.

He began to shuffle even quicker; Cowboy obviously needed his help. Just as he rounded the corner that led into the main hallway, he lowered his head and saw that his nightdress was exposed. He quickly tied the sash of his robe, covering himself further before sliding his glasses back up his nose. He didn't see the girl right away.

"Mr. Kloppman," called out her voice. He jumped and looked up; Miss Mason was standing just outside of the bathroom door, her hands on her hips, her damp hair hanging down her back. At that moment, she looked extremely furious, and he had a pretty good guess as to why. As she finished her sentence, he was almost expecting the very same words she used: "I've got a big problem."

_Oh, Cowboy, what did you do?_

--

For the first time in decades, Jack Kelly was nervous. He knew he was in trouble; that, alone, was nothing new. He had been landing in hot water from long before he died and this was no different. He just was not sure that he would be able to talk his way out of this mess.

If there was one thing that could be said about him it was that he had a suave manner about him; that trait, coupled with the charm that came inherent to him, allowed him to be very persuasive when he wanted to be. It also did not hurt that he had a face that no girl could say 'no' to. He was just hoping, now, that that would be enough to appease Diana.

He had not meant to spy on her. That much was certain. It was just that, rather than face _another _of Kloppman's lectures – even after a century, the old man never failed to give him a guilt trip – Jack decided to call on Diana. Really, the kid should have been expecting him.

Could he help it if she happened to be _naked _at the moment?

And, to be honest, he was not really spying on her – at first. He just entered the bathroom, quietly and invisibly; when he saw that she was still occupied in the shower, he waited idly by while she finished up. And that's when the girl had begun to sing.

If there was one thing that Jack wished he could stop time on, it would be the progression of music. To him, there was nothing like a good round of upbeat '50's music. He spent that decade emulating the looks and moves of that hip young performer, Elvis Presley. To this day, he could still make his lip curl.

But, as he remained floating in the lavish bathroom – still invisible, just in case; after all, he was (kind of, sort of, in a way) spying on Diana – he could not help but snigger a bit at the girl's choice of music. He didn't know exactly what kind of crap it was but '_My body's saying let's go… Oh whoa… But my heart is saying no… no…'_? How could he not laugh at that?

Jack didn't mean for Diana to hear him; he thought he had laughed quietly enough so that she didn't hear him. She did. _There's something about that girl._

He knew he was caught when he saw her green eyes peering out from behind the rose-colored shower curtain. She couldn't see him – _thank God for ghost powers – _but that did not stop her from reaching for her towel and shutting the shower off. When she exited the tub, the towel was wrapped around her.

However, the towel was quite short and it gave the ghost boy quite a view. To get his mind off of the sight of her long, wet legs, Jack made a comment, reverting back to the song she had just been singing. "What's that your body is saying, kid?"

He hadn't expected her to drop her towel in surprise.

To give Jack credit, once he saw that she was totally bare, he shut his eyes and slowly disappeared; rather than 'pop' away his presence, he faded slowly until he was waiting just outside of the bathroom.

He did not have long to wait. It seemed like mere seconds had past before Diana came storming out of the bathroom, almost fully dressed. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her pants were unbuttoned, but the girl didn't seem to care. All she seemed preoccupied with was searching out the ghost.

"Jack! Jack Kelly!" She paused. "Where the hell are you, Jack? You better come out now or you'll be even sorrier later."

He inwardly debated whether or not he should appear and try to explain what happened. _Maybe if I tell her she was imagining things, that I wasn't near the bathroom, she'll believe me…_ From his position floating a foot above her, resting in the doorway to the den, Jack could see the peeved expression on her face as she dared him to come to her. _Then again, maybe not…_

He almost appeared out of sheer surprise when she took a deep breath and yelled out his name: "JACK!" Luckily for him, he stopped himself in time. There was no way he was going to confront Diana when she was in this foul of a mood.

That's when he heard someone approaching from the other side of the apartment. Knowing exactly who it was – considering it could only be one person – Jack let out a sigh of relief. _I'm saved._ _Kloppman will save me. _After all, it was the old man that kept him and Ria from fighting all those years ago. He had a knack for keeping kids in line. How else could he have worked as a supervisor at a Newsboys' Lodging House for all those years?

Just as he had expected, Kloppman appeared at the end of the hallway, still wearing his sleeping clothes, his robe and his old blue slippers – _I think those slippers are almost as old as he is_, Jack mused as he watched Kloppman enter the scene. He was pushing his glasses up his nose in a way that Jack had come to learn meant he was a bit confused.

Diana's voice brought the old man out of his confused state. "Mr. Kloppman," she said and Jack saw that Kloppman had jumped at her voice, "I've got a big problem."

_Oh damn. Diana's gonna rat me out to Kloppy, _he realized suddenly. _She's gonna tell him that I spied on her…Wait a second – why would she do that? She can't possibly believe that the old man believes in ghosts. Unless…has Kloppy told her anything about him? About his role in this whole mess? Oh man, now I'm really going to hear it from him._ He was even more nervous now. _Things were never this difficult with the other girls._

Jack shook his head and raised his left hand slightly. There was only one thing left to do; he needed to talk to Kloppman before Diana said anything – he was sure that the girl would make him out to be nothing more than a perverted Peeping Tom and he couldn't have that. _And to think that all I wanted to do today was try to show Oscar up and solve this mystery _with _Diana's help…_


	19. IXX

Author's Note: _I have been sitting here all day, trying to figure out how to do this chapter. It's one of the one's that finally answers some questions but I just couldn't bring myself to actually do it. It might be a bit confusing – I'm going to elaborate on this chapter's subject matter later – so bear with me. If you understand what I was trying to get across, then you rule._

_Oh, and as a little side note, with this chapter, _Diabo _officially becomes my longest story. Prior to this, CLaK held that title at 49,586 words. _Diabo _has hit the 50,000 milestone and is still going strong. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo_ translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

August 14, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART NINETEEN

--

Jack took a deep breath and, while still floating in the doorway of Ariadne's den, he snapped his fingers. To the surprise of both the teenaged girl and the old man that stood below, he appeared, hovering, a foot above their heads. "Listen, I can expl—" he began, as he checked to make sure his cowboy hat was still covering his head. He needed all the security he could get at the moment.

Both heads jerked upwards when they head the _pop_ that accompanied his appearance. Before Jack could even finish his sentence, they both called out his name. "Jack!"

Alfred Kloppman shook his head slightly at the hovering specter. The way he said his name was akin to the way a father would scold his child for doing something naughty; in a way, that's what had happened. After more than a century of knowing one another, Kloppman had taken on the role of Jack Kelly's parent. And Jack Kelly could be naughty. Prime example: following his latest helper – _his last chance to solve the mystery of the girl's murder _– into the shower. He should have known it was not the smartest thing to do. How could he expect to endear himself to Diana Mason if he _spied _on her?

Diana, on the other hand, put anger behind her voice; it was almost as if she were yelling his name. She was still furious at the boy. Her hands remained on her hips as her head tilted upwards. Inwardly, though, she smiled at the sight of the old cowboy hat; she would never admit it but she could see why the people in the past referred to him as 'Cowboy'. He certainly looked the part.

The stance did not last long. Once the humorous thought of Jack riding a steed like one of those boys in old John Wayne film flitted out of her head, she realized something. It occurred to her that, when she called out to the ghost boy, her voice had not been alone. Kloppman had called out his name. The old man _knew_ the ghost.

There was a moment of brief silence then. Jack looked from the old man to the girl and back, wondering which of the two were going to start yelling at him again, first. But he didn't have to worry about that. When he looked down upon the other two, neither was staring up at him. They were staring at each other.

Diana seemed to be in shock. Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened. She pointed at the elderly butler with her forefinger. "You…" she said, before jerking her hand up so that she was pointing at Jack, "…can see…him?"

Kloppman looked almost ashamed. It was one thing for the Daite ancestor to know that he was aware of their legacy, that he knew all about the story of Jack; it was another thing for the girl to know that he was as much a part of the curse as the boy was. If Diana knew the truth, and let that slip to her aunt, her mother, even her grandmother, the women of the family would never forgive him.

After all, they did not know the truth. They did not know that Alfred Kloppman was the same Alfred Kloppman – the man he pretended was his great-grandfather – who was born in 1824. He had spent the past century either working as the family butler or living in one of the unused apartments, during the years after the previous Kloppman had 'died'. He was not as lucky as Jack. He did not have ghost powers, he could not go invisible. In fact, to be honest, Kloppman had never died.

Rather than die, as Jack chose to do, Kloppman had been cursed to live until the mystery had been solved. And, if the girl's murderer was never unmasked, and the hundred years came to an end, he would perish, his soul joining the forsaken lovers' in the fiery pits of Hell.

But how could he explain all that to the girl? They – they being Jack and Kloppman, partners in this whole mess since the day Kloppman found Jack's dead body on the rooftop and swore that he would not stop until the children's death had been avenged; such a heated vow had led him to be cursed by the Devil in the first place – had been lucky that Diana believed Jack's story without much of a problem.

The only problem had been Ariadne; Ariadne had always been a problem. It was she who, when Jack appeared to her that first time, spent a week locked in her room, convincing herself that the boy was an illusion stemming from the first and only time she, under her twin's guidance, tried illegal drugs. It was she who tried to force Kloppman to retire after she took over the Manhattan apartment building; it was only after he admitted that he knew about Jack – he attributed his knowledge to a talk his father (who was actually him, during his masquerade as the second Kloppman) had with her grandfather, Les, shortly before his death in 1968 – that she let him remain employed.

Even now, with the deadline quickly approaching, less than two months away, Ariadne was being a problem. First, she had refused to let Diana even visit the apartment – knowing that Jack would appear to the girl upon her sixteenth birthday, she did everything she could do to keep from subjecting her niece to 'the curse'. Then, after she finally relented and invited Diana to spend the summer in her penthouse, she brought out the box. And, to top it all off, she planted seeds of doubt into Diana's mind; after the dinner from the night before, Kloppman was surprised to see that Diana even looked in Jack's direction.

But the girl was not looking at Jack now. She was staring at him.

Diana could not believe what was happening. Kloppman did not answer her stammered question but he did not need to; she knew that he could see Jack floating there as easily as he could see her standing, disheveled and slowly drying, before him.

That's when it hit her. She was not sure where the idea came from – it was a fanciful notion but the only explanation that made sense of the situation. _Kloppman has to be a ghost, too._ Who else was it that knew all about Jack's story? The tale of his death had been the first thing Kloppman told her about after welcoming her into Ariadne's penthouse apartment. And hadn't her aunt told her that there had always been a Kloppman working in the building? _That would be easy if Kloppman was a ghost_, she thought to herself. _But how came Aunt Ria didn't tell me? Does she know? _Her mind was running a mile a minute. She had to know.

She narrowed her green eyes at the old man; Jack was almost forgotten – to his immense relief. He felt bad for Kloppy but it was a case of 'better him than me'. "How old are you, Mr. Kloppman?" Diana asked. From his perch, high-above, Jack almost had a case of déjà vu. _Didn't me and her already go through that? I guess she just likes to know how old people are. _The ghost boy had no idea where the girl was going with her question.

Kloppman tried to retain some semblance of dignity; it wasn't proper for a young girl to ask such questions of a man his age. "I don't see why that's your concern, Miss Mason."

If looks could kill, Kloppman's heart would have seized up right then and there. After everything that she had been through since arriving in New York, she was not going to let her aunt's butler – a man who could see a ghost; a ghost which, according to Jack, no one could see or hear but her – treat her like a child. "Mr. Kloppman, I am standing here, still damp from my shower, which he intruded upon," she added, throwing her hands up in the air, showing that she was referring to Jack. Jack, meanwhile, tried to look as innocent as possible. "And here you are, and you can see this ghost. I figure that either you're a ghost like him or senile. So, which is it?"

Kloppman tore his eyes away from the girl, instead looking down at his dress. He was an old man, wearing ratty slippers and a white robe. He had just admitted to being able to see a floating boy. And he did not want to admit the truth. He nodded. "I'm senile, then."

She laughed shortly; it was two 'ha-ha's at the most. She was not going to let him off the hook that easily.

It was time, Jack decided, to come between Kloppman and Diana. It was his fault, after all, that the two of them were thrust together in this situation. And he knew, beyond that, that Kloppman did not want the truth revealed. He had kept his role in the quest secret for almost one hundred years – only two people had ever known the truth: Jack Kelly and Les Jacobs. He did not plan to let anyone else in on it. He wanted to die in peace when his time _finally _came.

Slowly, Jack began to lower himself. When his feet touched the ground – he purposely chose to be solid for the moment; Kloppy hated it when he showed off his ghost powers – he landed in between Diana and Kloppman. "Hey, don't blame the old man, kid."

Diana, it seemed, was not expecting Jack to come between her and the butler. She did a double-take and scowled. "And why not?"

_Why not?_ Jack stumbled for a second, hoping a winning smile would hold her over until he came up with a plausible cover story. It was not working; Diana's scowl was etched in even deeper with every passing second. That's when it hit him. "Because." _There, that should satisfy the girl's curiosity._

"You've got to be kidding me." The answer, obviously, was not enough for the girl.

Kloppman decided to help the boy out. Cowboy was never that good under pressure – he needed time to come up with his improvisations. "What he means is that, since I've lived in this building for so many years now, that I've grown accustomed to his haunting presence. Over time, I've slowly been able to see him. He introduced himself to me after you were born and your aunt lost the sight, you know."

She disregarded the comment about her aunt 'losing the sight'; she was not sure what he meant – and she was not sure she really wanted to know. Things were too odd as it was. Instead, she focused on her earlier question. "How long is 'so many years'?" Diana asked back.

The time that Jack bought him by trying to placate Diana had given Kloppman enough time to come up with a realistic answer to her previous question. "I've lived in this building most of my life, Miss, but I've been the butler ever since your aunt returned from college and took the building over for your grandparents." It sounded a bit stiff, almost rehearsed, but the girl nodded. He was not sure if she believed him. He hoped so.

Part of the girl agreed with Kloppman. His story made sense. And, it was bad enough to be dealing with one ghost. She did not think that she could deal with another. She nodded, the bobbing of her head illustrating that she had, at least in this aspect, given in. "Okay."

A silence, much more comfortable than the earlier one, followed. That's when Diana's gaze shifted from Kloppman to Jack. "Jack?"

Her voice had gone from gruff and loud to almost sickly sweet. He almost flinched at the sound; he knew he was in trouble just then. _Here it comes…_

The girl surprised him, though. He could tell that she was raring to rip into him – she, obviously, had not forgotten about the shower incident – but, by the way her eyes dropped and her mouth formed a small 'o', he could tell that something else stole her attention. "Jack, what do you have there?" It was her turn to sound nervous now. Her hands were now crossed over her chest – she finally remembered that she had, in her hurry, neglected to put her bra on – so she used her head to nod towards Jack's arm.

He still had the packet of photographs, tucked securely under his right arm. In the excitement, he had almost forgotten about the pictures and the reason why he had gone bursting into the bathroom to begin with. He wondered briefly if this was the time to ask for her help. Then her remembered Oscar's taunting from the night before. If this was not the time, there would never be one.

Before he answered her question, Jack adopted a slight pout, puffing his bottom lip out. "I've been waiting all morning for you to get up, Diana. I only have a bit of time left – I need all the help I can get." He paused for a second. She was listening to him but did not say a word. He continued. "I thought that it might be easier for you if we did some more talking here today instead of going to my place. That's why I was in the bathroom. Honest."

Diana shook her head slightly; semi-dry curly hair – complete with a halo of frizz – shook, reminding her that she never finished getting dressed. She held up her right hand. "As long as you promise that you won't use none of those pictures to screw with my head, I'll give you one more chance, Jack," she said, and the specter lost the pout that marred his handsome face. "Just let me get ready." Her face was set and he found it almost impossible to tear away from the fierce expression.

He nodded. If she still was willing to help him right now, he would wait. But that did not mean he was promising to keep the pictures out of her sight; in fact, quite the opposite. It was his plan, the first chance he got, to stick at least one of these pictures under his nose. He just had to make sure that his form was transparent first.


	20. XX

Author's Note: _Oh, I am naughty. Not only have I been updating on Monday's rather than Sunday's but I totally did not update last week. I guess it's one of those things where, after working on this week after week for awhile, I get tired of the plot. Call it minor writer's block if you will. But, after sitting in front of the screen for almost four hours today, I finally got this done. It's not the best, but it's helping to further on the plot. New plot arc coming soon._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

August 27, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY

--

Diana nodded once and turned to go into the bathroom - but not before shooting Jack a look that told him, should he dare try to follow her into the bathroom, she would count down the minutes until his time was up. Then, without another word, she disappeared into the room and closed the door behind them. Both Jack and Kloppman heard the audible _click _of the locking door.

A silent pause followed Diana's departure and Jack thought that _maybe _Kloppman would neglect to lecture Jack on his behavior.

"Cowboy?"

_Damn Kloppy_. He was using the tone - the tone that any of the boys who lived under Alfred Kloppman in the Newsboys' Lodging House, such as Jack, recognized instantly. He was in trouble.

His face was stretched into a wide grin when he spun to face the old man. It was a grin that he had used, while alive, to get himself out of all sorts of tight spots. He doubted that such a cheap tactic would work on the old man but he figured it was worth a shot. "Yeah, Kloppy?"

Kloppman saw the grin and sighed. He shook his head slowly before pushing his wire rim glasses back up his nose. "You want to tell me what just happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"You," the old man said as he pointed at the ghost boy's chest, "and her," he added, gesturing towards the closed bathroom door. "Whatever possessed you to follow that girl into the bathroom – when she was _washing _herself?"

Jack shrugged and bowed his head; his shaggy sandy hair fell forward and, for just a moment, Alfred Kloppman felt bad about the lecture he was going to give the boy. But then his sense returned and he remembered just exactly _who _he was dealing with: Jack Kelly. If that boy was feeling any bit remorseful for walking in on Miss Mason, then he would eat a newspaper. If anything, Jack was just upset that he was caught.

Kloppman sighed. "Jack, need I remind you that there is only two months left? Two months before _everything_," he said, enunciating the word 'everything', "goes to Hell. And I mean that in the most literal sense possible, Cowboy."

Jack wondered if he should play dumb – pretend like he had no idea what Kloppman was going on about. But he knew the old man would not believe him; after a century of being alone, he found books to be a big comfort while waiting for his next helper. He may be able to play off like he was an ignorant street rat when he was around one of the Daite girls but Kloppman knew better.

He lifted his head up; his brown eyes met Kloppman's blue ones. "I'm sorry, Kloppy, but what do you expect? I'm anxious. I want to get on with this. Like you said, I – I mean, we – only have two months left."

"I know, Jack. But you got to go about this a bit smarter. Miss Mason—"

"Who?"

"Diana. Diana Mason? The girl in the bathroom?"

Jack nodded. "The kid. Gotcha."

Kloppman refrained from shaking his head and, maybe, smacking Jack upside his. If the boy expected him to believe, after listening to him blather on about Diana Mason for two years before the girl finally arrived, that he did not know her name, he would make _Jack _eat a newspaper. "Yes, 'the kid'," he said, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "Anyway, it would not do well for Miss Mason to know the truth. It would undo everything that we've done this past century, Cowboy. You know that."

"Yeah, I know, Kloppy. But we covered it good, right?" The boy was smiling now, proud of the story they had both concocted to keep Diana from learning the truth. He elbowed Kloppman, the point of his arm nestling in the folds of the butler's cotton robe.

This time he could not help himself. Kloppman removed his wire rim glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only Jack Kelly, after almost letting loose a century-long held secret, would be more proud of the fact that they were able to lie to cover up the truth. "Of course, Cowboy."

Jack waited until Kloppman had placed the glasses back on his nose. So far he had been lucky that Kloppman had not just plunged into one of his lectures. But he knew it would not last.

"Now, Cowboy," he began, and Jack braced himself for it, "You need to treat that poor child good. And, please, don't make her any more suspicious that we have already. It'll be a lot easier to work with her if you go about things the way you normally do – without spying on her. I don't think she liked that." And that was that.

Jack looked at him quizzically. "Hey, Kloppy?"

"Yes?"

Jack knew he was pushing his luck but he would feel bad if he did not at least ask. Was the old man's age – because one hundred seventy five is a really long life – finally catching up to him? "Are you… feeling alright?"

It was Kloppman's turn to look confused. "As good as can be expected. Why?"

The ghost boy shook his head. "No reason." When Kloppman – in that way that all adults had that told a kid that he knew something was up – arched his eyebrow, Jack grinned sheepishly. "I was just trying to figure out how I got out of a _real_ Kloppy lecture."

"Did you _want _a lecture?"

"Uh…no?"

Kloppman smiled. It was his first real smile since running across Jack and Diana that morning. "Good. Then consider yourself lucky and go be nice to Miss Mason. We have two months, Cowboy. No more playing around." He then took the time to re-tighten the tie of his robe before beginning to shuffle back in the direction that he had came.

Jack nodded but stopped when he saw that Kloppman was leaving him alone, outside of the bathroom. "Hey, Kloppy, where are you heading?"

The old man stopped. He looked over his shoulder. "I am going to bed. It is my day off, after all."

Jack laughed as Kloppman disappeared around the corner. Once the old man was gone, he took a seat in the middle of the hallway, resting his back against the wall. He was so surprised at the turns the day had taken; first, his only intent had been to talk to Kloppman about his plan – _whoops, forgot about that one – _and convince Diana to help him out, using the pictures. But that switched within minutes; spying on a teenager while she was in shower, and (accidentally) seeing her naked, had a tendency to reroute a stable course of action.

But, now, all he had to do was wait for Diana to wash up again. He could hear the shower running again – _I guess she's finishing up what I kinda interrupted _– but, this time, he refused to enter the bathroom. He would be satisfied waiting right where he was. He patted the package that he had placed carefully beside him. _Then it's time to get to work._

Suddenly, Jack had an idea. Diana had made it perfectly clear that she would help him – on one condition: no more pictures. But, could she say no if he never gave her the chance? _I don't think so… _

A cunning grin, quite at home on his handsome face, curled his lips as he reached for the package of pictures. Nimble fingers made quick work on the knotted twine. Before he knew it – and could think better of his plan – the package was free. He looked through the pictures until he found a good one to start with. He plucked it from the middle of the package and placed the rest of the pictures aside.

His chocolate eyes gazed at the picture that he now held in his hand. There were two figures in the picture, a boy and a girl. _Maybe it's time that Diana met her great-great-aunt and uncle_, he thought as he got to his feet.

--

Diana purposely took a second shower. It almost felt like she had to peel her clothing off; after throwing on her tank top, panties and jeans without properly drying off, coupled with the fact that her sopping wet hair had dripped down her back, it felt like the cloth was a second skin.

She remained in the shower as long as she could. She was slightly paranoid that, at any moment, some sound would give away Jack – that the ghost boy had followed her back into the bathroom. She just hoped that he was not dumb enough to pull the same stunt twice. Though she really was not banking on it.

However, she knew it was not _entirely _fair if she remained in the bathroom until the two months were up – even if she was considering it. She sighed and, with a heavy hand, finally turned off the shower spray. Before she chanced walking out of the tub, though, she poked her head out from behind the rosy shower curtain and – trying to ignore the heavy sense of déjà vu – looked around. Like before, she did not see anyone else in the bathroom.

But, from her experience earlier that morning, she knew that did not mean anything. "Jack?" No answer. "If you're in here, I'm going to gut you."

From just outside the bathroom door, she heard a muffled response. "What's that you said, kid?"

"Never mind." Diana breathed a sigh of relief. She was alone.

She picked up the pink towel from the floor. After she had ran into the hallway, looking for Jack, she had tossed the towel by the toilet. She placed the soft fabric to her cheek; the towel was damp but still usable. As quickly as she could, Diana used it to dry off her legs, arms and chest. Then, just as quickly – just because Jack was waiting outside the door _now _did not mean that he could pop in and out while she was changing – she pulled on her underclothes, including her bra this time, and her damp tank top.

Her jeans were another story. Somehow, when she had stripped for her second shower, the jeans had landed beside the tub. The jet spray from the shower had sent dribbles of water outside of the tub; the puddle that formed was soaked up immediately by the denim. Her jeans were soaked.

_Well, I can't wear these now_. Diana placed the jeans along the edge of the tub in order to dry them out. _I'll just have to get another pair. _She used the towel to cover herself from the waist down so that she could leave the bathroom and get a dry pair of pants.

"Jack, I'm almost done," she said to the boy waiting just outside the room, as she turned the knob on the door, "I just need to—"

And that's when Jack, hovering just outside the bathroom entrance, lunged forward and shoved a picture under her nose. She was so surprised that, for the second time, she let go of her towel.

--

_Her first thought was: _I'm going to _kill _Jack. _It was followed almost immediately by: _Where the hell am I? _Diana knew from experience – _all courtesy of one, Jack Kelly – _that she had fallen into the past. Due to some picture, she was having another vision. Unlike those other times, though, she did not even have a chance to look at the picture. It was a quick glance and _poof! _she was in the past._

_She looked around. She was outside and definitely still in Manhattan. And, like earlier visions, she was, indeed, in the past – most certainly in the time period in which Jack was alive._

_There were two people sitting outside as well, resting on the porch of a large building. One of those people was a boy; he was younger than she was, with curly brown hair. She could not see much of his face for he was sitting, legs spread apart, head hanging between his legs. _

_The boy's companion was a girl, a year or two older than he. She had long brown hair and expressive brown eyes; such eyes were glistening with what could only be tears. The girl was whispering soothing words to him, words Diana could not hear, while rubbing his back. _

_Diana took a step forward. The building was on a corner and, when she arrived, she was almost hiding from the pair. Assuming that they could not see her, she moved forward again. She wanted to know what they were talking about._

_The girl was still speaking. Her voice was low and almost motherly. "David, I know it's tough. But we have to accept it – Jack's gone."_

JackI should have known

_The boy lifted his head and Diana saw wide blue eyes. Unlike the girl's, there were no tears. He seemed to be beyond grief. "I know that, Sarah. But what I don't know is why?"_

_His voice ended on such a low note that Diana needed to take another step forward to hear him. But, with her next step, she felt a slight breeze – and, with that breeze, came the realization that she was wearing her underwear…and nothing else. Her heart rate increased and she almost panicked – _I'm in public in my freaking underwear! – _before she remembered that they could not see her._

_She let out an audible sigh of relief._

_The sound alerted the conversing pair to her presence. At first she had thought it impossible – she was a ghost, in her own right, within these visions. But that was before they stopped talking. The boy, David, stood up from his seat and, after gesturing for the girl to remain where she was, walked over to Diana. _

_With all the power within her, Diana willed herself out of the vision. It did not work. She began to pinch her left arm, hoping that the slight pain would bring her around. That did not work either._

_His blue eyes widened as he looked at the girl. Diana did not really blame him. She was sure a girl wearing only a tank top and small underwear – complete with tiny rosebuds – did not belong in New York at the turn of the century. At that moment, she did not know what was worse: being caught in her underwear or not understanding just how she was to get back. She was sure that she was going to have one heck of a bruise on her arm from the pinches._

_David cleared his throat. "Umm…Miss?" he said, and she could tell that he was having a hard time trying to figure out how to address her. "Can I help you?" A bit of guilt began to build in her stomach; this boy was, obviously, grieving yet he was still trying to help her out._

_Rather than face him, Diana looked over her shoulder. Maybe she was overreacting and he was talking to somebody behind her. There was no one behind her. _Crap_. She began to fiddle with her fingers before remembering that she was almost nearly naked. Anxiously, she crossed her legs. "Um… I think I'm alright."_

"_Are you sure?"_

No, you idiot. I'm naked and standing in front of a _boy _who lived a hundred years ago. What do you think? _Diana took a deep breath. She doubted it would make matters any better if she started to yell at him. _

_He was still staring at her; the girl, Sarah, was trying not to stare as well but Diana caught her sneaking a peek. That's when she got an idea. She was not sure how well it would work but it was worth a try. After all, they knew Jack. Maybe they knew her, too. And, if she found out the truth, she would not feel bad beating the stuffing out of him if she could give him the answer first. "Hey, do you guys know what happened to Stress?"_

_The moment the question was out of her mouth, Diana felt like she was being pulled apart. Her mouth opened for a scream that never came. And then, she was gone._

--

Diana woke up from the vision with a violent start. It seemed, to her, with every extra vision she saw, she was being further sucked into the past. This time, she was there – _and they saw me_. It was enough to entirely upset her.

But nothing was more upsetting than when she opened her eyes and came face to face with Jack's nose. He was leaning over her and, from such a close proximity, it was frightening. Still in shock over what had happened in the vision, Diana had one response. Quickly, she lifted her hand and, with all the strength she had considering her weakened state, slapped Jack across the face.

He was so concerned over her spell – none of the other girls had ever shaken like that before; what had happened? – that he had forgotten to go transparent. The sting of her flat palm against his cheek hurt almost as much as the final seize of his heart, all those years ago.


	21. XXI

Author's Note: _Can it be? A chapter of _Diabo _on time? Oh, I am good. Anywho, this chapter's purpose is to further the back story a bit more, as well as focusing on the conflicting emotions of being a ghost. Cause, I tell you, if I was doomed to watch all my loved ones grow old and die, I'd be a little bit screwy, too. Enjoy!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

September 3, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY ONE

--

"What are you doing?" Jack's voice was partially muffled, considering his hand was covering his face protectively, but she could hear him clearly enough.

Diana struggled to sit. As she did, she noticed that she was still only wearing her tank top and panties and was presently giving the ghost boy quite a view. She scooted away from him, reaching out for the fallen towel as she did so. After using the pink cloth to cover herself up, she turned on Jack. "What do you mean, what am I doing? What the hell were you doing? Leaning over me like that. What's the matter with your brain?"

He shook his head, his hand now moved so that he was caressing his left cheek. As it moved slowly up and down, Diana could see that there was a red handprint standing out against the weathered flesh. "Hey, I can't help it. You were lying there, flopping about. I just wanted to see what was wrong and then you _slapped _me."

"You deserved it, I'm sure," she muttered under her breath before remembering why she was on the ground; it seemed that whenever she had visions – strong visions, at least – she fainted. _It's his entire fault that this happened to me. Him and his stupid photographs! _"Wait a minute…I thought we had a deal, Jack. No more pictures. Wasn't that right?"

He at least had the decency to look ashamed. His mouth began to move but no words were coming out. He did not have a lie prepared to cover for him. Finally he hung his head. "I was fibbing, Diana. I—"

"I knew it," she said triumphantly as she drew herself up, careful to keep her underwear hidden from his view. "I knew you couldn't be trusted. First you freaking _spy _on my when I'm in the shower and then, _then_, just when I think that _maybe_ you might be telling the truth, _maybe _you're being honest, then you decide to have your fun and games." She wrapped the towel around her waist before turning back on the specter. "Now, I'm going to go finish getting dressed. It's bad enough that some of your old buddies saw my underwear – I don't need you seeing it too."

Before Jack could say anything in response – even he was smart enough not to say that he already saw her _out _of her underwear – she had stormed down the hallway and entered her room, slamming the door tight behind her. As soon as she was gone, a broad grin split his face. _So she saw Dave and Sarah. And the Jacobs' got themselves a peek at Diana's bum. Interesting. Wish I could have seen it._

The smile lingered a bit longer as he scooped down and picked up the faded photograph of David and Sarah. The picture had been taken about the same time as the one of him, _her _and Oscar – right when David's obsession with photography began. David had wanted a picture of himself and his sister; Sarah had been proposed to by a young Jewish boy from their apartment building and David feared that he would never see her again after her wedding. Jack had offered to take the picture. It took him a few tried but, eventually, he was able to take this shot.

He ran his fingers over the top of the photograph. It was grainy and quite unlike the pictures he had of later dates. For that reason, he took special care that such pictures never faded more than possible. He had gone through too much to obtain the older pictures; this one, for example, had been stolen from David's personal collection – along with most of the other's in his hideaway – by Rhiannon Daite-Jacobs. After all, she had married David's kid brother, Les, and was part of the Jacobs family.

_Well, that's one thing I've done right for the Daite girls. If it weren't for me, convincing Rhiannon that her life was still wholeafter that abusing ass, Paul Robbins, got himself killed, she never would have been free. And I was the one who told her to ask Les Jacobs about me. So, when they fell in love, got married and moved into this old building, shouldn't I have gotten a 'thank you'?_

He shook his head and returned his gaze to the photograph. It was so strange for him to stare at them – especially the ones of his old friends. They had all gone on to live full lives after their picture's had been taken. David Jacobs had gone on to be that successful photographer he always dreamt of being – most of Jack's pictures had been Dave's work. He married young, a girl called Chastity Grant, had a whole slew of kids, before dying in 1959. He had gone to David's funeral, alone and invisible, and wondered if this was how David had felt when Jack had died. It took all the spirit he had to attend the funeral; he was confined to his sanctuary for almost six months to make up for the waste of energy. Not for the first time did he remember the rules.

And Sarah… Sarah Jacobs, he remembered, never married that young Jewish boy the propositioned her. He found out from Rhiannon – _it was such a stroke of luck that she married into that family_ – that she had only agreed to marry the boy because she was still pining for him. Jack had courted Sarah for a bit – it was during a break between his relationship with _her _– before realizing, finally, that his heart truly belonged to _her; _he remained friends with David's sister until his death but, as Rhiannon told him, she never gave up hope that he would return to her. After his death, however, she broke off her engagement and began to spend more time with her brothers and their friends. At the turn of the century, she ran off and married Spot Conlon – _good ol' Brooklyn, himself _– before returning a year later, a set of twin girls in tow. As awkward as one would think the coupling was, Spot and Sarah made a good pair. They were more than happy and, in the end, died within a week of each other, in 1955.

It was hard for him to remember that these people, these two individuals sitting with near identical grins, grew up and lived full lives. Unlike he, who was doomed to forever being frozen in time. He had been eighteen years old for almost a _century_. But, with his photographs, Jack was able to freeze time, to remember his comrades the way they had been when he was still among them: naïve, yet brainy, David and sweet Sarah. He had loved the Jacobs. He just had loved _her _more.

And then there had been Les. _Lester Jacobs_. He had been a good kid who grew into a good man. He had felt such a rush of pride when Rhiannon and Les married, almost as if he was watching his own children wed. He knew how much Rhiannon cared for him – he was all she ever talked about – and, when she became pregnant with his child, she was glowing with happiness. It was then, when Étaín Jacobs was born that he lost the ability to appear to Rhiannon. And she lost the memories.

He had not known to what extent Rhiannon had confided in Les. He had always assumed that she said nothing for fear that he would think her mad – especially since he had been acquainted with Jack Kelly when he was alive. Of course, Jack had known that he knew something. He lived in the building with Rhiannon as Kloppman seemed to live, but never die. And he said nothing about it. He had even gone to Kloppman when he needed help building that blasted box of his. Slyly, Les had learned of a spell – even as he aged he retained a childish outlook on life; it came, Jack believed, from being the youngest child – that would keep spirits, friendly or malevolent, at bay. He used it and Jack had never been able to look in the 'Fate' box.

_Until last night_… With a start, Jack remembered the book that he had stolen from Diana the night before. He had hidden it away for a later inspection but had forgotten all about it following Oscar's visit and the mess of the morning.

All of a sudden, Jack had the urge to read Les's book. Hadn't he written that _knew _what had happened? Slowly, keeping his eye on Diana's door at the end of the hallway, he slipped his hand into his vest pocket. He had just wrapped his fingers around the old book when he saw the knob turning. Diana was coming back.

For a second, Jack was torn between seeing why Diana was returning – _was she going to help me again? Or hit me again? –_ and leaving to his sanctuary so as to read the book. He could not, obviously, read the book there; Diana would, despite the slight spell placed on her as she dreamt, remember that there had been such a book inside the old wooden box.

Just as he withdrew his hand from his pocket, and raised it so that it was still resting against his (no longer) sore cheek – _might as well make the girl feel guilty _– Diana exited her room. She was now completely dressed; she had brushed her hair and piled it on top of her head in a curly mess. Her lips were still pursed in disapproval but her eyes belied her expression. Her eyes, bright green against her pale skin, were dancing in amusement.

With her hand, she gestured for him to come over to her. "Come on Jack. We can talk in here."

He was so surprised at the pleasantness within her voice that he just climbed to his feet and walked over to her. True, his head was cocked and his eyes were narrowed suspiciously – after all, she _had _just slapped him – but he approached her nonetheless. "Yes?"

Jack had stopped just outside her door. She shook her head. "Not here, silly. In my room." And she entered her room.

"Who are you and what have done with the real Diana?" he asked, his feet planted to the carpet just outside Diana's room. The girl was smiling now as she sat down on her bed. He was not used to her smiling.

"Oh, come off it, Jack. I was just thinking that the sooner I help you out with this mess, the sooner I can get to enjoying my vacation. It won't do me any good if I let you upset me. I _will _enjoy myself. And you _will _help me."

He sighed in relief. This was the Diana he had known ever since meeting her a few days ago: forceful and to the point. "I'll help you if you help me," he countered as he entered the room.

"Deal," she replied and, as if that one word had the power to erase everything that had happened between them since he first spied her coming out of the taxi cab on Duane Street, there seemed to be peace between them. She waited until he had settled himself down at the foot of her bed before starting with her questions; as she had dressed, she had come up with a bunch of them and was eager to get some answers. "Alright, Jack. Who was it that I just visited?"

The picture was still clasped in his hand. She did not even flinch when he raised it. By now Diana had figured out that, after falling into a vision once, sudden contact with the same object was not enough to trigger another episode. As long as Jack was showing her the same picture he had just shown her – _and it should be, considering he left his precious stack of photos in the hallway, _she noticed – then she was safe.

And it was. As soon as the image was before her eyes, she recognized the two people, the boy and the girl, instantly. But something was different. It was the same pair, David and Sarah, but they were dressed differently. David's clothes were similar but, because the picture was in sepia tones, she could not tell if they were the same colors or not. Sarah's dress, however, was entirely different; she had been wearing a full frock in her visions whereas this Sarah wore a simple blouse and skirt combination.

Diana was confused. Every other time she landed in a vision, she was there just as the picture was being taken. But not that time. That time she had arrived as the pair was discussing Jack's death. She would wager almost anything that the two of them in the photograph were not thinking about his death at the time of the snapshot. "Hey, Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember when this picture was taken?"

He seemed surprised at the question. "Sure. I actually took this picture, oh, in July of 1899, I believe. Couple of weeks before she died. Why?"

She shook her head again, her mouth frowning in a way that showed she was confused, not sad. "It's just that, when I was there, you know, they were talking about your death - and what? That was a year later, right? I mean, it was the same people but not the same time as this picture. I did not know that could happen."

"Well, kid, it's only been three days. I'm sure there's a lot you don't know," he said in a haughty tone. However, that haughty tone was only employed to cover up his confusion. He had never heard of one of the Daite girls falling into a scene that was not the time being depicted in a given photograph.

Her frown transformed into a scowl but she purposely ignored his comment. "Well, it would have been nice if you told me that. And that sometimes the people in the past could see me, too. Do you know how embarrassing it is when a cute boy sees you in your underwear?"

Jack did not know if he should be offended or amused. For one thing, she did not seem embarrassed when she was caught indecent by him, only angry. _Hey, I'm cute, _he thought before shaking his head. But, on the other hand, that meant that Diana thought that David Jacobs was cute. David Jacobs, her great-great uncle.

He overlooked the fact that she had said that David and Sarah actually saw her – that was odd enough and had never happened before; but, then again, one of the girl's had never had a shaking spell before, either – in favor of telling her of her relations. It was more fun that way.

"Hey Diana?"

"What?" she snapped. Her cheeks were slightly dusted pink. She was staring at the picture and, obviously, remembering the encounter she had just hand.

"Did you say 'hello' to your family?"

She lifted her head this time, tearing her eyes from the photograph. "What? What family?"

Jack reached forward and took the picture away from Diana. He pointed to David and Sarah. "This here is David and Sarah Jacobs. They happen to be the brother and sister of your great-grandfather, Les. That makes them your family. _Cute_ family, though, eh?"

Diana's face went from pale pink to bright red in an instant. "I hate you, Jack."


	22. XXII

Author's Note: _And here is chapter twenty-two. If this seems a little bit confusing, I plan on elaborating more in the next chapter and (eventually) it will all make sense. Also, this chapter explains why Diana was not as afraid as she should have been to deal with a ghost. Enjoy!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

September 10, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY TWO

--

Jack adopted a wounded expression, placing his palm against his chest. "Oh, Diana. Your words pain me," he shot back, the mischievous grin he was having trouble controlling proving that he did not mean the words. "After all we've been through."

Diana snorted. "Oh, stuff it, Jack. I've only known you, what? Three days?"

"One… two… three. Hmm," he said, ticking the days off on his hand. "Damn, it seems like so much longer than that."

"Tell me about it," she replied, muttering under her breath. Then she laughed. "Oh well. At least there's not too much time left, right? I can just see how we act by the end of the summer."

Jack shrugged. "Just be glad that you're only stuck with me for two months more, kid." Though he was still perched at the foot of her bed, he seemed to be growing more comfortable sitting with her. He had drawn his legs up under him and was rubbing the back of his neck, fiddling with the faded red bandana he kept tied around his neck, as he spoke. "Let's see… I spent about twelve years with both Rhiannon and Étaín, and then ten years with Ria. But, since I was dealing with her and her twin sister at the same time, that's almost like twenty years. Yup," he said, now nodding, "two months is not long at all."

Diana's head was spinning at all that. It had only been three days since he had appeared before her, trying to get her help, and she already felt like she knew him. _How had they spent _years _with him? _So many questions were forming in her mind. Had Jack accompanied them to school? On dates? Was he there on their wedding days?

It was at that very moment, as she sat on her bed with Jack, joking about the time that he had been tied to her family, that Diana really understood – as much as she could – why her aunt might have been so upset at the mention of Jack. It was not a game that she was playing, it was her family's destiny.

She turned her head away from his smiling face and looked at the elaborate stitch pattern on the blanket. Her stomach was beginning to hurt. After almost a century, it was all up to her to help this wayward ghost solve a mystery that none of her predecessors could do. If she did not succeed, if Jack Kelly did not solve the murder, she was dooming two spirits to an eternity to Hell. And, to make the pressure all the more, all of her female relations had at least a decade of time to talk with the ghost boy – Diana had two months. The pangs in her stomach seemed to double the longer she sat there thinking about it. _I can't play around anymore. If I'm going to help him, I've got to start now. I've got to find out what he knows and what he thinks. And then, maybe, I'll have a chance to do this. I'm not going to be known as the idiot who condemned two people to Hell._

Jack's forehead wrinkled as he narrowed his eyes at Diana. One moment Diana was sitting with him, laughing with him. But, the next, she was staring vacantly at the pink comforter, her right hand rubbing the front of her belly. "Are you alright, kid?"

His voice seemed to bring her around again. She shook her head and let her hand fall into her lap. "Yeah. I think." There was a pause before Diana cleared her throat. "Um… Jack? You know how you keep saying that you've got two months left?"

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering what date _exactly _is the date. I mean, what if I help you figure out the answer but we're a day too late because I didn't know what the deadline was? You know?"

He looked confused for a second but that expression was quickly replaced by a sense of relief. He had thought that she had decided to be mad at him again and was glad that she was just asking more questions. _At least I know now that Diana's back to her usual self, asking all them questions of me. _"Sure thing. The date falls on the 3rd of August. It's the one hundred year anniversary of _her _death, down the day. And," he added, smirking at the new revelation he was about to unload onto Diana, "it also happens to be your great-grandmother's birthday. August 3rd, 1899. Odd, isn't it?"

"Nothing but another coincidence," Diana countered. After all, Jack had referred to her sharing a birthday with the death of Honor Williams as nothing but a coincidence. Surely, the fact that Rhiannon Daite was born the exact day that his girlfriend died was regarded as the same.

Jack shook his head. "Oh, no. Not this time, Diana."

"What do you mean?" She was suspicious now. Just like he had appeared when he first began to call her 'Rhiannon', he was acting as if he alone knew everything and that she was ignorant. She did not like it.

"Haven't you wondered just why your family is tied in with my plight? Why you gals can see me and have the gift to see the past?" He was enjoying himself again. The careful way he had approached the girl, following the 'bathroom incident' was gone; he was damn near goading her now.

Diana was not sure if she liked where he was going with this. On the one hand, she knew that she did not have time to listen to Jack tell tales from the past; if it did not help her in solving the damn mystery, what did she care? But, on the other hand, she did care. In between trying to convince herself she was not crazy and wanting to throttle Jack, she had found some time to wonder as to why it was _her _family that was involved in this mess. It might just be interesting to at least know that.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

"Why not?" he countered, his eyebrows raised. "One girl died, one girl was born. The first had unfinished business, the second bore the brunt of it. I just happened to be thrown in the mix." The way he explained it made it seem like it was the easiest thing in the world to understand. Trying to follow his logic just gave Diana more of an upset stomach.

"And that's all there is to it, right?" She let out a breath of air after a brief wait. "Well? Are you going to tell me any more about that, Jack?"

Jack shook his head again, his shaggy sandy brown hair falling forward into his face. Before she could say anything else to him, he looked around the room, confusedly, and then nodded as if remembering something. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. With a tell-tale _pop_ he had vanished. He was not gone more than three seconds before another _pop _was heard, announcing his return.

He wiggled himself back into a comfortable position, his precious pictures held in his left hand. Once he was resting again at the foot of Diana's bed, he tossed the packet into the middle of her blanket. "Nope. I'm going to show you."

She became suspicious again at once. "No more pictures."

He had been expecting that. "Listen to me, Diana. You may not like it, but those pictures are going to tell you more than I ever can. You just got to trust in them, that's all."

"You want me to trust in a picture?" She was snorting again. _Not likely_.

"Yeah. All you got to do is pick up one of these pictures and, before you look at it, think real hard about what you want to see. If you do that, then you'll finally get some answers to all those questions you ask me." He leaned forward on his knees and grabbed at his pictures. He had tied a simple knot in the twine, keeping the pictures together, after selecting that one of the Jacobs siblings; the stack back in his hands, he just slipped the twine off of the photographs before leafing through them again. There, in the middle of the pack, was another of Rhiannon Daite.

He took that photo out of its fold and, after placing the stack back on the bed, kept the face of the picture facing him. "I'm going to hand you this picture and you're going to focus on the day that I first met Rhiannon. Understand, kid?"

There was a hint of a challenge in his voice, almost as if he did not think she would do it. She thrust her hand forward. "Give me," she demanded.

He could not hide his satisfied smirk but it did not matter – Diana was too engrossed in the photograph that she had accepted from Jack.

It was a candid shot just like most of his other's had been but, unlike her first thought, it was not of one person but two: the girl, looking so like Diana did but a bit older, and a man about ten years older than that. They were staring at each other and, if it were possible, Diana would swear that she saw little hearts above their heads. _But that doesn't matter right now. I want to see her, younger, when she first met Jack… first met Jack… Jack…_

--

_The first think that Diana noticed was that, if she stared at her hands long enough, she could see a bit of what was behind them – she was partially transparent. _I guess that they won't be able to see me. That's a plus, _she thought before turning her attention to her surroundings. With a start, she was surprised to see that she knew where she was. _I'm at Aunt Ria's buildingIt looks so different, though…

_She looked up in amazement. There was a sign hanging midway up the building that announced it as a Newsboys Lodging House. _I guess that Mr. Kloppman was telling the truth in that tale – though, I don't know why I'm surprised. He was right about the damn ghost, wasn't he?

_At that, she realized that she was losing her concentration. _Rhiannon… and Jack… Rhiannon… and Jack…

_She felt a cool breeze just then and nearly jumped. As if appearing out of nowhere, Jack was there. He looked exactly like the boy that she had left behind in her aunt's penthouse, down to the cowboy hat that was hanging down his back and the red bandana that was tied around his throat._

_She was not sure if _he _could see her or not. She hesitated. "Jack?" _

_If he could see her, or sense her presence in anyway, he did not acknowledge her at all. He just stood, outside the front of the building, tapping his shoe as if waiting._

_They did not have to wait long, neither of them. As Jack fiddled with the ends of his rope belt, ignoring the people that came and went around him – and, in some cases, through him – he remained watching. Diana kept her eye on the people as they passed, waiting until she saw Rhiannon. Which would be easy, considering Rhiannon was her double._

_In a way, Diana felt as if she was watching the way that she and Jack had met – except that the meeting was taking place almost a century in the past. She got chills just thinking about it._

_Or maybe that was because, at that moment, Rhiannon walked right in front of her. She jumped. There was no doubt about it – Rhiannon was her _exact _double and it was creepy._

_Diana crossed her arms over her chest, watching with a morbid fascination as Rhiannon stopped right before her. Jack had just seen her. Or was it the other way around? She could not tell. All she could see was that, despite the other people walking the same street, was that both where staring at each other – and it was quite unlike the stare that she would give the other man in a few years. She looked, Diana noticed, frightened out of her mind. _

"_Holy damn, Kloppman was right. One of you living folks can actually see me. And you're going to be my helper."_

_The girl did not say anything just yet. Her mouth was flapping wildly, making her look like a fish, but she made no sound. Instead, she formed her right hand so that her pointer finger was extended and used it to gesture wildly at him._

_Jack was smirking in response and Diana could not help but snicker. It was an expression that she was already accustomed to. "Hey, aren't you going to say something, kid?" he asked, waving his hand in front of Rhiannon's face._

_The motion broke the paralysis that had settled over the girl. She began to scream – _loudly – _and, before Jack could say another word, she began to run in the opposite direction._

_As Rhiannon ran, and Jack watched her go, Diana lifted her hand to her ears. Rhiannon's yell was so shrill that it made her head feel like it was reverberating. However, in her distress at the noise, amplified in her own ghost-like state, Diana broke her concentration. Almost at once, she felt herself drift away._

--

It was not that long of a vision and, at first, Jack was not sure if it worked. Diana had let slip, accidentally he was sure, that she had seen a scene in a photograph that was not the one depicted in the picture. Would it be possible, then, to view a photograph and see another scene? And, better yet, could Diana control?

He only had a few seconds to test out his theory. When Diana had sat, quiet and thinking, he had turned his thoughts to their earlier conversation. He disregarded the fact that Sarah and David Jacobs had actually seen her; instead, he focused on the idea that she had been thrust into a different part of the past. If she was willing to look at another of the pictures, he could see if her abilities were controllable. If they were, it would be a first. _And_, he grudgingly (yet, in a way, respectively) thought, remembering Oscar's visit of the night before, _it would explain, again, just why the Devil was so eager to get his hands on her_.

But he had not been sure if Diana would relent to looking at another of his photographs. He had to lead her into doing it, make her think that it had been her idea. He smirked. He was not _as_ stupid as he looked.

After she glanced at the picture, her face screwed up in concentration, he watched as the vision took hold of her. Her green eyes grew dark as her pupils dilated; her entire body became rigid. Depending on the severity of the action – the extremity of the vision she was undertaking – she would either remain upright or fall backwards. Though she was properly positioned – she was still sitting on her bed – in case she fainted, she did not waver at all this time.

This vision lasted for about a minute – an eerily quiet minute only punctuated by the quiet ticks of Diana's wristwatch – before her pupils contracted, her mouth clamped shut and her body relaxed itself. She was breathing heavily but, as she shook herself out of the past, she seemed to be much more coherent than she had in previous visions.

She lowered her head, resting her chin on her chest, as she tried to control her heart rate – she could almost feel the blood rushing through her veins. The scene was still running before her eyes and she was struggling to remember much of it. She had lost her concentration as she fell out of the past; it was a challenge to recall what she had just witnessed even as it was rushing past her.

Finally she looked up at Jack. The ghost boy was staring at her with a mix of anxiousness and concern. It was making her a bit uncomfortable so, rather than let him continue to look at her that way, she tried to get his attention by telling him about what she saw – she would have to share with him eventually so she might as well do it then and not waste any more time. "Hey Jack. I was just there, where you and my great-grandmother met for the first time. She seemed a little bit nervous," she said and illustrated her point by raising her right hand to her ear. "Did they all act like that? I mean, was I the only one who seemed to accept you so readily? I feel kind of _different _from them a bit, you know?"

He could not help but laugh again. Nervous was an understatement for the way that Rhiannon had greeted him. "Diana, Rhiannon Daite did not believe that I was a ghost for almost a year. She thought I was some kind of bogeyman following her around until I finally slipped a picture in front of her." To the boy, frozen in time, he remembered that first year with Rhiannon quite clearly; it was inane details about his quest that occasionally slipped his mind. "And, I'll tell you, kid, you are definitely not like the other girls," he added. To his surprise, Diana beamed at his words.

And he left it at that. He did not want to be reminded at how different Diana Mason was from the other Daite girls. If he remembered, then he thought of Oscar. And his _other _deadline. He had one month to solve the mystery before the Devil came for her. If the Devil succeeded – because Jack failed in his quest – he would take both Jack and Diana's souls in exchange for _her_, if Oscar was even speaking the truth on the bargain. How could he tell Diana about that?

_I can't_. _I won't._


	23. XXIII

Author's Note: _I'm not sure if anyone who reads this (Woot __to_ Crazy Pink Hat Girl, Rae _and _Matisse _for the past few chapters' reviews) even remembers that I try to get this done on a weekly basis, on Sundays. If you do, then you notice that today is, in fact, Tuesday and not Sunday. I would like to apologize for the lateness – my Mom went into the hospital on Sunday (we still don't know what's wrong :P) and it's been a bit hectic around here. However, I finally got some inspiration today and cranked this out. I hope you enjoy it. I swear, there's nothing so good to take your mind off crummy subjects than working on writing (or reading). It's so easy to get lost in a story._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

September 19, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY THREE

--

An awkward silence followed. Jack was busy worrying about Oscar's (not so subtle) threats from the night before; Diana's mind was traveling back to the past. She was curious to learn how her ancestors dealt with the shock of learning all about Jack and his journey. It made her feel a little hardened by the times that she so readily accepted his story. She wanted to know how, exactly, Jack was able to convince her predecessors that he was, indeed, a ghost and not a figment of their imaginations. She just was not sure how to phrase the question; she also was not sure if he would be able to answer the question the way she wanted it answered. Technically, she was more concerned wit the Daite girls' perspective and he did not have that. _Maybe I'll save those questions for later._

Jack cleared his throat, breaking up the quiet. "So, you saw Rhiannon. Anything else?"

"No. Not really," she began but, turning her thoughts back to what she had just witnessed, Diana realized that there was something else. The Jack from the past had mentioned Kloppman – had said that Kloppman was the one to tell him to expect Rhiannon Daite. Did that Kloppman, obviously kin to the Mr. Kloppman who worked for her aunt, have the ability to see him, too? Or was something really just odd about the Kloppman family's ties to Jack Kelly? She did not know but she was going to ask. "You know what, Jack, yeah. There is."

"What?"

"When I saw you—"

"You saw me?" Jack interrupted. "How did I look?"

Diana rolled her eyes. "You're dead, Jack. You looked just the same then as you do now. Don't interrupt me."

"Sorry."

"Whatever. Anyway, when I saw you…" she paused. Jack had closed his mouth tight, his brown eyes twinkling in amusement. Diana sighed. _Thank goodness I don't have to put up with this idiot for freaking _years_! I'll be lucky if I get through today alone before I go entirely mad. _She opened her mouth to continue but, before she said another word, Jack started to puff his cheeks up before exhaling. After a few seconds of this, Diana shook her head. She knew Jack was eternally eighteen but this was just juvenile. _I'm pretty sure I've gone nuts. I'm sitting with a ghost who is acting like he's four._

Jack added sound effects, making his lips pucker as he breathed air out. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him making faces and had to laugh. There was just something ridiculous about a _ghost _making such a deliberate display of breathing. "What the hell are you doing?"

Jack stopped dead away, his face set in a thin line. "You know, Diana, it ain't nice to mention hell to a ghost, especially one who's facing it in a month."

"Sorr— wait a minute. What do you mean, 'a month'?"

"Did I say one month? I meant two. August 3rd, remember?" Jack answered, trying to cover his tracks. And it was right after he decided that he would never tell Diana about Oscar's proposition to him. _Nice one, Cowboy,_ he said to himself, outwardly smiling so that Diana would not know how annoyed he got at himself for making such a small blunder. The girl, with her head cocked to the side in mild confusion, did not seem to be buying his lie – and, considering he had made a life (when he was alive) out of lying, that unnerved him. Everyone _always _believed him.

Trying to get her mind off of his slip, Jack nodded back to her. "And to answer your question, I was just having some fun. Do you know what it is like to be alone for years at a time? Imagine, kid, going sixteen – _sixteen _– years at a time living all alone. No one can see you, none can hear you. And you know that every day you're there, just there, is another day closer to a deadline. I had to wait until each of you Daite girls was sixteen before I could do anything. Don't you think I'm allowed to be a little silly now?"

Diana flushed. She had, once again, taken for granted the fact that he had existed as a spectral entity for almost one hundred years. Except for the years that he spent with one of her family members, he was alone with no one to talk to, no one to joke around with. And she had been so nasty to him and so suspicious of him. Right then, Diana made a promise to herself. _I may be crazy but, as long as I have to help him with his little mystery, I will be his friend. _She smiled at him. "Of course, Jack. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"That's nothing new," he quipped. With the appearance of Diana's smile, his was not too far behind.

Her fledgling goodwill towards the ghost boy wavered. She kept her grin plastered on her face. "Good one, Jack. I—"

She was cut off when she heard the (muffled) beginnings of 'Happy Birthday'. _My cell phone. Now where did I leave that thing? The last time I had it was when Aunt Ria called me yesterday at noon. I had it and I put it… in my shorts pocket, that's right. _

Diana reached over to the edge of her bed where her luggage was still stacked. She had not gotten around to unpacking her suitcase; when she changed into her tank top and boxer shirts before she went to sleep the night before, she had shoved her dirty clothes in her small suitcase. The phone had to be in there.

Jack watched in amusement as Diana zipped open the small square case and flipped the lid open. She rummaged about in the clothes, throwing her underwear and the t-shirt she had been wearing the day before onto the floor. She was mumbling under her breath, pleading for the phone to keep ringing as she grabbed her denim shorts and started reaching in the pockets. With a triumphant look on her face, Diana pulled out the blue phone while it was still ringing.

She paused for a second, glancing down at the caller ID on the square, green screen. Surprised, she made out three letters: MOM. She fumbled to press the green 'send' key before the phone stopped ringing. "Hello? Mom?"

Jack's ears seemed to perk up at the word 'mom'. "Diana, that's your ma? Good old Roddy. I wonder how that scamp has been," he said, smiling to himself. If there were any of the Daite girls who hated him even more than Ariadne Cearr, it was her twin sister, Arianrhod. Because she was the older of the two, born six minutes before Ariadne, Arianrhod experienced the spirit in a strange way; as her 'powers' were split with her younger sister , she did not have the ability to see the spirit. Instead, she was able to fall back into a vision when confronted with one of Jack's photographs. Because she did not ever _encounter _the ghost boy, she believed that the visions she had were hallucinations. She never really believed that he was a ghost.

And, as he learned from Kloppman – who had been told by his employer, Ariadne – the curse, as the girls dubbed their involvement with Jack and his spectral mission when they were teenagers, affected the twins even further when they were grown women. As was the custom with his helpers, as soon as another daughter in the line was born – and, strangely, each girl only begat one child, with the exception of Étaín and her twin girls; all children had been female – the previous Daite girl lost the ability to see Jack or hear him. They also lost much of their childhood memories, phantom memories replacing the ones they held that concerned the spirit.

Just like her mother had, and her mother before that, Arianrhod Mason forgot all about Jack Kelly and his quest as soon as Diana was born. Ariadne, however, had not – while she no longer had the sight to see him and the voice to speak with him, the lingering effect of his presence never left her. And no matter how hard she tried, she could not forget him. As Kloppman shared with him, Ariadne did not forgive when she could not forget and her ongoing grudge with the spirit – she blamed him for the awkwardness of her entire life, her inability to bond with living, breathing people – was what cost him his first two years with Diana Mason. Ariadne did not want to burden her niece with the 'curse' and, as a result, Diana never visited the enchanted building – _true, the whole curse came down to the damn building _– and was hidden away from Jack.

But something eventually changed her mind. Two months before the deadline was up, Ria finally invited her niece to visit. And, consequently, introduced her to Jack. Vaguely, Jack had wondered, when he first got the pull that his helper was at the building, if something had clicked inside Roddy. Had something told the woman that her daughter needed to be in New York City for some reason? He did not know but he thought he might as well ask Diana.

Jack smirked. Normally it took him a year or so to convince the Daite girl of the time that he _really_ was a ghost who _really _needed help – usually tricks were employed, such as popping out and back, as well as sticking pictures under their noses before they at least began to listen. Even though they listened, it did not mean that they believed him. Diana was the exception. Therefore, it did not surprise him that, even though they had only met face to face three days ago, he was feeling like she was rubbing off on him. At the very least, her habit of constantly asking questions made him feel like doing the same. "Hey Diana. Ask your ma if—"

Diana shushed him quickly then, waving her hands to keep him quiet – his thoughts quickly scattered. He would ask her later to ask her mother. After all, the girl had one of those fancy wireless phones. She could call anyone from anywhere without even talking to an operator. And it was so tiny, hardly the size of the newfangled candy bars.

Jack grinned at her and, like he had earlier, clamped his mouth shut. Before he could start making faces again, Diana rolled her eyes and purposely turned her back to Jack. Her mother might not hear the ghost but she did and she did not want him to distract her.

"Diana, baby, how are you?"

Sometimes you never know how much you miss things until you're confronted with them. It had been three whole days since she left her mother and father behind in New Jersey but now, hearing her mother's throaty voice, she found herself wishing she were back home. "I'm good, Mom. How are things at the house?"

"Everything is going great. But what are you doing, asking me about the house. How's your vacation going, Diana? Meet any cute boys yet?"

Without even realizing it, Diana's head turned slightly to her left. She could see Jack out of the corner of her eye. "I guess you could say that, Mom," she said, forcing a laugh. _Thank God he can't hear this conversation. I definitely don't want to give him a big head. Its bad enough he looked all sad when I said that kid – my great great uncle, ew – was cute._

"Mmm, what's he look like?" Diana could just imagine the look on her mother's face – her green eyes would be crinkled slightly at the ends as she grinned broadly. While her mother and her aunt were identical twins, Arianhrod – Roddy – was definitely the more outgoing, if somewhat mildly paranoid, twin. Her mother blamed it on the drugs she had taken when she was younger even though Ria always hinted her slight issues stemmed from something different (_a ghost maybe?_); Diana just humored her mother most of the time.

"I'll tell you later," Diana promised. _Yeah, when he's not sitting in my room with me_, she added mentally.

"Maybe you can introduce me."

"Sur— What? What do you mean, Mom?"

Her mother laughed. "I'm coming to visit, baby."

"Visit who?"

Another laugh. "Why, you and Ria, of course. Your father has some sort of business thing this weekend and I'm all alone. I figured I might as well get to spend some time with my two favorite girls."

_Homesickness gone. How can I help Jack if my mom is here? _"Mom, I don't think—"

"Oh, don't be such a party pooper, Diana. I already called your aunt and she's going to meet me at the train station when I get in. Then it's going to be a girl's night out. But don't worry, honey. I'll be going home Sunday night so I won't be cramping your style too long, alright?"

Her mother sounded so excited that Diana could not even think about telling her mother to stay home. And, besides, her aunt had the day off tomorrow so it was not like she could spend it with the ghost boy that, after their conversation the night before, her aunt so obviously disliked. _And it would be nice to see Mom again…_

"Okay, Mom. I guess… I mean, in that case, I… I'll see you soon," Diana answered finally. She did not know what else to say. _Jack is going to be pissed. _

Her mother seemed to sense her hesitance and covered it up by being overly excited. "Alright, honey. You be a good girl and I'll see you in a few hours. Goodbye, Di."

Diana cringed. She hated when her mother rhymed with her name – especially when she had to call her 'Di' when she did so. Not only did the nickname remind her of the infamous Princess who had only just passed away a couple of years ago but she hated it that it was the homonym such a negative word – 'die'. _Well, at least it kind of goes with my new summer job_. _I'm surrounded by dead people, either in ghost form or in freaky ass visions. _She shook her head. Her mother was waiting for her to end the conversation. "Bye, Mom."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom," she said, exhaling slightly as she did so. Sometimes there was just no getting off of the phone with her mother. She knew that if she hung up the phone before her mother did, her mother would pretend that she believed that her only daughter hated her. It would give Diana a guilt trip until she apologized to her mother; Arianrhod Mason would then laugh and tell her daughter how silly she was. Her mother was just strange like that.

"Take care," Arianrhod said and with the sound of her lips smacking a kiss goodbye, she finally hung up on her end.

Diana pressed the red 'end' signal and let the phone drop back on the bed. Her back was still to Jack and she was not eager to face him. _How do I tell him that I have to put off the hunt for two whole days when he's only got two months left? _She felt guilty. She sighed and, after stretching her legs out so that her feet was touching the headboard of the bed, she let her back fall so that she was lying flat on the mattress.

She looked upwards and, though he was upside down to her, she could see that her goodbye to her mother had not gone unheard by the ghost. He had puckered his lips. "Aww, does Diana wuv her mommy?"

Feeling the blush that came to her face for the countless time that day, Diana reached for her pillow and tossed it behind her. In her embarrassment, she was slow and her aim was off. Jack was prepared for her throw. He turned transparent and the pillow went straight through his stomach. "Yummy," he said, his features normal again.

_Remind me not to sleep with that pillow ever again_, Diana thought before she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her back was to the specter again as she tried to fight the color in her cheeks.

Jack did not like to be ignored. "So, what did she want? I may be a ghost with some cool powers and all but I'm not all knowing."

Diana snorted. "Man, I wish you were all knowing. Maybe then you would have figured out what happened in the past and I wouldn't be stuck helping you."

"Ouch. That hurt, kid."

The words were said with a hint of humor but Diana still felt bad. She had promised herself that she would be his friend and what was she doing? Throwing cheap shots at him. She shook her head. "Sorry, Jack. And I mean it, too."

"Why?" The playfulness was gone. Now he sounded suspicious.

She shrugged apologetically as she turned to face him but kept her head down. "Because my mom just told me that she's coming up for the weekend. You've got to go. I won't be able to help you until she's gone." She lifted her green eyes to gage his reaction.

Understandably, Jack looked hurt and just a bit angry. _And handsome. My Cowboy was always the handsome one. A smile as sweet as butter. Hair tousled just so, whether he was running from the bulls or sleeping in late. Eyes with the power to steal my soul with one glance. Ah, my Cowboy…_

_Wait, where the hell did that just come from?_


	24. XXIV

Author's Note: _Couple of quick things that I want to say. First, I'm not sure what happened last week but the wrong version of chapter 23 got uploaded. It was the earlier version with a couple of thoughts left unfinished. It had also been largely unedited (not that my stuff is ever totally edited – it's hard for me to find my own mistakes but I do try) yet I uploaded that version instead of the real one. I caught my mistake about Thursday so if you read it prior to then, you might want to go back and check it out. I don't remember if there was anything important that was missing but, if so, it's there now._

_Secondly, holy damn – nine reviews on the last chapter. I don't think I've ever been so tickled before. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Considering all I dealt with last week (my Mom came home from the hospital but, after my two pet birds died two weeks ago, my hamster died on Friday), it makes me feel appreciated that people are reading this. It's such a labor of love for me – I've never had a story so long and, remember, it's still day 3! And, yes, humor is intentional. Can't be all freaky and dramatic – need some comic relief, hehe._

_Anywho, here's the next chapter. Apologies now – instead of addressing the current issues of this mystery, I'm throwing in some more plot twists. Woot. You know you love it ;) But, it is the longest chapter in this story, so far. So, yay? Yay._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

September 25, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY FOUR

--

The look of surprise on Diana's face – _what is that girl thinking?_ – was enough to make Jack forget his own doubts. He had been prepared to try and convince Diana to come away to his abode in order to continue setting up the details of the past. After all, Diana could not actually begin to help him solve the mystery until she understood the story at its simplest. He had only spoken to her for three days; in that time, he had only begun to describe the tidbits he had discovered. They could not afford a two day reprieve – especially now that the deadline had been cut in half.

But, when her green eyes went glossy as they opened wide in disbelief, her slender hand covering her mouth, Jack lost the argument before it began. Something was wrong with the girl.

"Diana? Hey, kid? What's the matter?"

As quick as the glazed look came to her face, it faded even faster. She shook her head, rougher than she should have. Whatever it was that surprised her, upset her, it was still inside her head. Nevertheless, she lowered her hand and waved it about in a nonchalant manner. "Nothing, Jack. I just… You know what? It was nothing. Forget about it." Then she grinned.

It was such a wide and cheesy grin – she was so obviously hiding something – but Jack decided to let it pass. He nodded his acceptance and she seemed to calm down. Besides, it had just dawned on him that, at least for the rest of the afternoon, he could leave the girl be – and not for Diana's sake but for his own. As he shifted his weight forward on the bed, he felt the flat cover of Les's book press into his currently solid chest. He had almost forgotten about the cursed book; now that he had the opportunity to leave Diana be, of her own decision, he could return to his hideaway and read the book.

_Who knows_, Jack thought to himself, _maybe Les will tell me what happened and I won't have to spend the next few weeks trying to get the girl to solve the mystery of _her _murder. _He cleared his throat and, still leaning slightly forward, began to gather his pictures. Some point during their conversation the photographs had spread out over the pink comforter. "You know, Diana, maybe you're right. It might do you good to take a bit of a break from me. Then, when we meet again, it might be easier to go through some more of the stuff you need to learn. What do you say?"

Diana watched as Jack straightened the pictures out. "Sure," she said amiably as he retied the twine around the stack. She was so glad that he was not pushing her into staying with him that the relief was evident in her voice. "I mean, there's so much for me to process right now. Three days ago, if someone would have told me that I'd be having a civil conversation with a ghost, I would have told them to get some air holes drilled into their skulls. But, look at me now." She laughed a bit, gesturing at the pictures he was tucking under his arm. "I've been jumping in and out of visions, having some creepy ass dreams and was spied on by some dead teenage boy. I tell you, Jack, I think I do need a break."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just call me 'some dead teenage boy', little missy. I mean, how many ghosts do you know, Diana?" he said, trying to keep a straight face. It did not work too well; he could see that she was rolling her eyes; he abandoned his attempt at mock-discipline. "Anyway, I want you to remember that it's just a break. I'll be back here on Monday, alright?" He tilted his head to his right side, gesturing to the pictures he was holding. "I'm going to go through some of my other photographs and newspaper clippings. See if I can find something that might make more sense to you, too."

She groaned. "Not more pictures…"

"Of course. And, after two days of going through photos instead of having your help, I promise I'll pick out some interesting ones for you." Jack smirked as he climbed off of Diana's bed. He lifted his left hand slightly but, before he snapped out his exit, he winked at Diana. "Monday morning. Bright and early."

He was gone before Diana groaned a second time.

--

Diana remained sitting at the head of her bed for a few minutes after Jack left. So much had happened since the last time she was alone that she just wanted a moment to get her head straight. She had not been lying to Jack when she said she needed a break. _I kind of wish I had more than two days off from dealing with Jack – hell, I'm spending the next two days with Mom and Aunt Ria. What kind of break is that? _She was smiling though; she did not mind her mother… too much.

She stretched out on her bed. _Well, Mom and Aunt Ria won't be back here for a few hours. What should I do? _Her options were quite open now that she, unexpectedly, had gotten rid of the ghost boy for the weekend. _Let's see… I could go over what I learned from Jack so far… _She shook her head. She was on vacation. She had the rest of the summer to help Jack – why should she waste a beautiful afternoon, stuck in a mystery?

_Well, I guess, instead, I could go outside and explore… _She shook her head to that suggestion, too. Her mother had not told her what time, exactly, she would arrive in the City; the train ride was less than two hours but Arianrhod was not known for her punctuality. For all Diana knew, her mother would not arrive until late evening. Or, on the other hand, she might be on the train already.

_Or I could… _Her next thought was cut off when an audible grumble could be heard – her stomach was growling. It was only then that Diana realized how hungry she was. _When was the last time that I ate something? _She had not had the chance to have breakfast that morning and she had declined to eat her dinner the night before. And before that? Jack had not fed her anything the entire time she spent with him when they were in his room. In his hurry to get her to come with him, he had not even allowed her to shower, let alone have breakfast.

It was weird. She did not feel hungry the entire time she was with him but, the minute he was gone, she felt hunger pangs. However, Diana's stomach was growling so loud at this point that she was not concerned with some of Jack's stranger powers. The only thought she had was going to find some food.

_And_, she added mentally, _maybe I'll stumble across Mister Kloppman. _She nodded as she scooted off of her bed, ruffling the comforter as she went. _Without Jack there maybe I can ask some questions of him. Who knows? Maybe I'll find out just how the Kloppmans are involved in this mess._

Feeling a little daring and quite inquisitive, Diana hurried from her bedroom. She did not see the elderly butler as she navigated the few hallways. By the time she had made it to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment, she had not seen the man; he was not in the kitchen either.

Diana shrugged. "Oh well," she said. "I guess I'll talk to him later." Without Kloppman to occupy her attention she began to search through the clean kitchen. She did not feel up to waiting for anything to cook – and since the only thing she could cook was spaghetti and she did not think her stomach would wait for the water to boil – so she grabbed the peanut butter, a half-empty jar of grape jelly, a knife and a loaf of white bread.

As quickly as she could, Diana made two sandwiches, spreading liberal amounts of jelly on top of the peanut butter. She was not a fan of the crust so with four quick swipes of the knife she cut it off and pushed it into the trash can.

The sandwiches were appetizing to look at but she knew that, before she began to eat, she needed something to drink. If she did not have something wash the peanut butter down, she would have it stuck to the roof of her mouth and in her teeth all night. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet over the stove, Diana poured some milk into it. After putting the milk back into the stainless steel refrigerator, she picked up her plate in one hand, her drink in the other, and smiled as she made her way back to her room. _Perfect_.

--

After finishing her lunch, Diana felt re-energized. _What should I do now?_

Since she still had not heard from her mother or her aunt she did not want to go out and explore the City. For one thing, she was not sure what sort of plans her mother had for their 'girl's night out' – she did not want to do anything that her mother might want to do later; for another, she did not want to leave only to have her mother arrive to find her daughter missing. When her mother got worked up, it was not pleasant for anyone.

Eventually, after a good half an hour of doing nothing while trying to come up with something to do, Diana decided to finally unpack. She could already imagine what her mother would say if she saw that Diana had been there for two entire nights and had not put her clothes away.

It did not take long for her to empty her suitcases. She placed all of her clothing into the empty dresser her aunt kept in the guest room and put all of her toiletries on one of the fancy shelves in the bathroom. Her dirty laundry she kept in one of the (now) empty suitcases; her cell phone was safely perched on the side table next to the bed.

Diana slid the suitcases under the bed so that she would not trip over them. Then, with a satisfied snort, she rubbed her hands together. But she was still not done.

Her clothes might have finally been put away but she knew that her mother would find it offensive if it was nighttime and her bed was still unmade. It was a rule in the Mason household that one could not leave until their bed was made; it was that such rule that led Diana to procrastinate on straightening the sheet, comforter and pillows out that morning.

She sighed and decided that she might as well get the bed cleaned up, too – if her mother was happy, then they all would be happy.

The 'Fate' box, closed with the blank book sealed inside, was resting on the opposite side of the bed. She walked around, picked it up and looked at with a disdainful eye. Shaking her head, she walked back around and set it atop the side table, next to her blue Nokia. Bambi was next; the stuffed toy was lying on his side by her pillows. After a quick squeeze of the ratty old toy, Diana sat him on top of the 'Fate' box.

Once the bed was cleared of everything that she had placed upon it, she pulled on the pink blanket with the intent of straightening it out. However, as soon as she tugged it, something else caught her attention. There, in the middle of the bed, was a picture. Jack had left one from his collection behind.

She dropped the edge of the blanket that was in her hand. Instead, she reached out for the picture, seemingly drawn to it. It was that same one of the girl that was her double – Rhiannon Daite.

Diana waited for a vision to take hold of her but nothing happened. She grinned knowingly. _I've looked at this one before. It can't suck me in. Nice. But, I wonder… No. I shouldn't test it_, she thought, almost nibbling at her bottom lip, as she tried to convince herself that purposely jumping into an image of the past was not smart, _I shouldn't go back and get some answers to my own questions. That would be wrong. I have a lot to do. Jack isn't here…_

_Jack isn't here_. _And that means that I can do what I want. _

The knowing grin turned into one of amusement. "Alright, Diana," she said, speaking to herself. "It was hard but you did it. You talked me into it."

She lifted the picture up to her eyes. "I want to see Rhiannon. I want to see Jack. I want to see Kloppman. I want to know how they knew that they belonged together and I want to know why."

Diana was not sure if it would work. But, when her head began to spin and her body lost whatever control it had, leading her to fall backward against her unmade bed, she had one last thought. _Take that, Cowboy._

--

Four did not even look up as Jack appeared back inside his sanctuary, his light feet landing softly against the ground without a sound. The cat was sitting in the middle of the bed, busy licking her paw and using it to wash her face, and seemed too comfortable to want to move.

Jack reached forward and, making his state solid once more so that he could touch her, stroked the furry back of his companion.

Four turned her head over her shoulder, her bluish-green eyes twinkling in recognition (as if she expected some other ghost to come popping inside the nook). "Meow," she said in way of a greeting. He could hear the low rumbling of a purr that came from the cat and knew she was content. He also knew that she was sending him a message: "I'm not moving, buster."

The ghost boy grinned and rubbed the top of her head affectionately. "Don't worry, Four. I ain't gonna make you get up." He lifted his hand up and snapped his fingers.

Four meowed again at the elaborate action before turning her attention back to grooming. They both knew that the gestures were not necessary but they made Jack feel a bit more magical when he used his ghost powers. Kloppman hated when he showed off; the old man believed his immortality was worthless compared to being able to vanish at will and insisted that Jack did not do it in his presence – when he could help it, at least.

Jack smiled cheekily at the feline as he rose up in the air. He leaned backwards as he floated directly over the bed; he was stretched out as if he was lying on the mattress though he was at least two feet above the bed. He wiggled a bit until he was comfortable, his back inclined a bit so that he would be able to read. Then, once he was satisfied, he drew the black book out of his pocket.

He was both surprised and not to realize that he had spent a whole day with the potential key to _her _murder and had forgotten all about it. It was understandable, he reasoned, as he thought back to everything that had happened following his (slightly amoral – but that was a part of who Jack Kelly was) acquisition of Les Jacobs's old journal. Between Oscar visiting him and delivering an ultimatum and walking in on Diana while she was in the shower, he understood why the book had remained in its place within his vest pocket.

But, then again, had he not spent the last one hundred years looking for something that would explain the course of events that unfolded? It all began that night, that still August night, when she was stabbed and bled to death. If Les knew the cause of her death, if he knew the identity of the fiend that stole her life, then Jack could save his soul from the clutches of the Devil; he could save her soul from the endless Purgatory it existed in. How had he allowed himself to forget, even for a moment, a book that might end his (and her) suffering?

Jack realized that he was trembling, the book shaking slightly in his grasp. "Can it all come down to this, Four?" he asked, speaking to his cat.

Four's response was to open her mouth widely in an elaborate yawn before stretching out languidly. Then, with a graceful leap, she jumped off of the bed and stalked underneath it.

"Thanks for the help, Four," Jack said as he watched as her tail disappear out of his sight. He could not tell if the cat mewed again or not but it did not matter. After all those years of wondering of what Les had hidden away from him, from Kloppman, from _Rhiannon_, he was finally going to look.

Before he did, he posed one more question to himself. "I just wonder why, if Les _knew_, he never told. He never said a word. Not to Dave, not to Rhiannon, not to Kloppman. He just wrote it down and locked it up. Why?"

Of course, to that question, there was no answer. Jack had not expected there to be one. He would hopefully learn it through reading Les's own writing.

With Four, though hidden, as a reluctant audience, he began to read aloud from the beginning. "'August 3rd, 1927', twenty-seven years to the day of my death, twenty-eight years to hers," Jack added, noting this time that Les chose to begin his book on that particular date. Not only was it the anniversary of both of their deaths, it was also Rhiannon Daite-Jacobs twenty-eighth birthday.

"To my child, which one who ever reads this book. I, Lester Jacobs, have writ down the following as proof that every thing that happens to you is real. My precious wife, Rhiannon, has forgotten it all. I fear that the same will happen to our baby, Étaín, when she has her own kin. But I remember. I remember because I knew Cowboy. And I knew…"

Jack paused there. He did not want to chance saying her name a second time and bringing up the wrath of the devil. Instead, he just continued, omitting her name.

"And I know what happened."

He paused a second time. So far, that was what he had read. He was afraid to read the next page. His gut was telling him, just as his subconscious had told him the night before in Diana's room, not to turn the page.

But he did.

"I know that Stress was murdered. And I know that Cowboy did it."

_Cowboy… did it?_


	25. XXV

Author's Note: _Can you believe this story is at twenty five chapters? This is just getting so crazy – and long. And the end is definitely not in sight. Woot. I swear, this story is quickly becoming my little baby. I can't see it being finished anytime soon – there's just always so much more that I can put into it and explore. And I still have to actually address the murder. But, like they say in _Labyrinth, _things are not as they seem. And this story (and, for that point, this chapter) is not what it seems. And I just want to (a thousand times) thank all the people that are still with me on this journey. It is so great to get comments from all of you. Whenever I feel overwhelmed under the weight and intricacy of this monster, all I need to do is go back and read the reviews. Thank you! (PS, I hate dialogue...)_

_Random moment: my birthday is in two days. Woot. Just thought I'd share ;)_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

October 1, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY FIVE

--

Did it work? _Diana raised her hands to her eyes and rubbed them quickly. When she removed them away, she could see that she was no longer standing beside her bed in her aunt's guestroom. However, as her eyes roved over the place she found herself in, she could see that she was standing within a room inside of a building. _Alright, _she thought to herself, _I'm in the past. Now I just have to find out _where _I am. And find my victims – er, I mean Jack, Rhiannon and whatever Kloppman Jack was referring to in my other vision.

_Diana dusted the nonexistent dirt off of her faded blue jeans – she seemed to always imagine that falling into a vision made her dusty – before taking the time to explore the room further._

_Looking around, Diana saw that it was a boarding house or orphanage of some sort. It was a rather large room, filled with quite a few bunk beds lining the wall opposite of her. She paid no attention to them at first, instead continuing to look about the (thankfully) empty floor. She looked to her right and could see, at the end of the room, what she believed to be a large water pump complete with a basin. _

_She turned to her left and began to walk in that direction, passing all of the bunks. At the other end of the room, just past an open passageway, there was a counter area, complete with various sized (dirty) mirrors; the counters were cluttered with mugs, razors and other sorts of boy-type items. At least, that's what it looked like to her – sometimes it was hard to tell the difference when one was looking at an early 20th century existence from a late 20th century perspective._

_She could make out, just before the counter area, a row of doors. She turned around and took a step closer, intent on seeing what was hidden behind the wooden structures but stopped a few feet away. The intense and terrible aroma seeping out from between the wooden slats of the door told Diana just what she would find behind – and it was not something that she cared to view. _Yup_, she thought, her nose wrinkling up as she stepped out of this portion of the room, _this place has definitely got to belong to a bunch of guys. Girls don't smell up a bathroom like that.

_Diana shook her head and entered back into the main part of the room. Something was nagging at the back of her mind; for some reason, that something kept intoning that, yes, it was a boys' bunkroom and, no, she should not be there. Kloppman would be displeased. She ignored the little voice that kept repeating that she should just leave and began to explore the bunks. Her curiosity trumped her intuition._

_Well, that was not entirely true. Once that little voice seemed to understand that Diana was not going to leave the bunkroom just yet, it seemed to steer her into another direction. While she was once again standing in the middle of the room, facing all of the bunks, her feet began to walk of her own accord. Before she knew it, Diana found herself facing one of the top bunks on the left. _

_The girl was surprised that she had not noticed it before. While most, but not – to give some of these boys credit— of the bunks were left unmade, a variety of sheets and thin blankets left crumpled atop the cots, this bed , she saw as she stepped up on her tip-toes, was impeccably made, with a small pillow lying at the far end._

I don't think anyone has slept in this bed in… well, forever, _Diana thought as her hand reached out for the pillow. It was handmade, she could see, in the shape of a heart. It was mainly white, though she could see that much of the cloth had gone yellow with age. It was decorated with a lacey trim and, in the direct center of the pillow, there were two letters ornately embroidered in faded red thread: F.S._

_It looked so soft but, just as her hand made it to the pillow, Diana found that she could not pick it up. As she had been in previous visions, she was the ghost. Invisible and intangible. _Great I didn't want to touch that crusty old pillow anyways.

_She sighed and lowered herself down so that she was flat on her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest and made another face. "Alright. I wanted to see Jack or Rhiannon or that Kloppman person, not spend the rest of my existence in an empty bunkroom. So, where the hell are they?" she asked herself. She had no idea how to return from a vision (it did not occur to her just to think of him) and she had not yet met either person she had come to search for. _

_Just then, almost as she was speaking out loud to herself, she heard a pair of heavy shoes clomping on a nearby staircase. She was not so much frightened as anxious as she waited to see if that person was heading to her floor. Diana hoped so – maybe it was one of the three people she was looking for. She knew that she, being ghost-like (as weird as it was for her to think of herself like that), could not be seen by whoever was approaching._

_Diana did not have long to wait to find out who was making such a loud noise. The sound stopped a few seconds before an elderly man peeked into the room. The man, whose grey hair stuck out from underneath a tan bowler hat, peered into the bunkroom through wire-rimmed glasses. He looked around before fully entering the room._

Holy crap, that must be Kloppman – he looks just like Aunt Ria's butler, _Diana thought as she got a glimpse of the old man. The only difference between this man and the man she knew was the style of dress; this man wore a faded grey shirt with arm bands under a dark vest. _

_This Kloppman was looking around suspiciously and, for a moment, Diana thought that his eyes might have caught her. In any instance, he was definitely focused on the bunk that she was standing beside. He made a noise, almost a derisive snort. "I must be going mad. I could have sworn I heard someone up here," he said to himself, shrugging, before walking over to the bunk. _

_Diana jumped out of the way just in time for the man to pass by her and not through her. She watched as he patted the made bunk almost lovingly. There was a thin covering of dust that floated upward as his hand pressed against the sheet. The man coughed, waving the dust away from his face. _

_Once he was breathing again, he reached for the pillow. He puffed it once, straightening out the ruffle of the lace, before placing it back down at the head of the bed. "It's such a pity about that odd legend," the old man said as he continued to speak to himself. "I find it so difficult to understand that, even now, that none of the boys will stay in this bed since Cowboy…" He did not finish his sentence. Kloppman shook his head. "Oh well. It's been too long and each generation of boys live to follow the examples set by their predecessors. Besides, we've never been short of bunks since. None of the boys want to stay in a cursed lodging house and most have not. It's such a pity," he repeated, almost sadly._

_Diana listened to the man and the brief nagging that bothered her when she first arrived seemed satiated. _I knew this whole set up seemed familiar. This man must be Mr. Kloppman's grandfather's father – the man who ran the lodging house before and after Jack's death and went on to work for Rhiannon Daite. He told me this story when I first got to New York. He said that the kids thought this place was haunted after Jack died and stopped living here. I guess none of them wanted to sleep in his bed neither_, she thought, thinking of the empty bed. She was not sure, exactly, what year she had fallen into – it was obviously some time after Jack had died but not before Rhiannon got married and bought the building on Duane Street – but she was anxious to learn more. This Kloppman, whether he knew it or not, was giving her a lot of information just by talking out loud to himself._

"_Kloppman?_ _Hey, Kloppman? You up there?"_

_The old man started as a strong male voice called up the steps. He had been so lost in his own thoughts it spooked him to have someone intrude on them. He took a few seconds to compose himself before answering the voice. "Yes, I'm in the bunkroom. You want I should come down?"_

"_No," answered the voice. "I'll come up."_

_There was another round of someone running up the steps before another man entered into the bunkroom. He was tall and thin but not gangly. He had regular brown hair, dark brown eyes, and an infectious smile. He opened his arms wide when he spied the old man. "Kloppy," he said before walking over to him._

_The old man walked into his big embrace, patting him on the back in return. "Les. How have you been, son?"_

Les? _Diana's ears perked up. _Could this be Les Jacobs, Rhiannon's husband – my great-grandfather? _She peered at him but, apart from noting that he was a handsome man in his late twenties, she could not see any resemblance. Both her great-grandmother and great-grandfather had died long before she had been born and she had never cared enough to see if there were any photographs of them. In fact, that was one of the reasons she got a B on her family tree project during sophomore year – she had no pictures, just names, dates, birthplaces and occupations. _Could this be just another coincidence?

"_I've been doing well. The business is picking up, so I got no complaints," the man, Les, replied as he broke apart from Kloppman. "How are you? You ain't dead yet, are you?"_

_The old man laughed; it sounded false to Diana's ears. "If only, Les."_

_Les gave the old man a knowing smile. "I know." _

_A tense moment, awkward for all three of the people in the room – especially for Diana because she had no idea why such simple words could be so tense – followed but was broken up when Les pointed to the made bunk. "Cowboy's bunk still made?" he asked, raising an eyebrow._

"_Would you sleep in a bunk that belonged to a boy who killed himself?"_

Killed… himself? _Diana was confused. She had never actually thought about Jack's death before; he was a ghost, therefore dead, and that was all she needed to know about it. Kloppman – her Kloppman – had mentioned something about the boy in his story, the boy she would quickly come to learn was Jack Kelly, voluntarily giving up his life. She had not put the pieces together yet; she had not thought of Jack's death as a suicide. _Oh, Jack, when I see you again, am I going to have questions for you…

_Les thought about Kloppman's question for a moment. "No, I guess not...," he agreed as he reached past Kloppman and picked up the pillow from the bunk, "But it has been sixteen years, you know."_

"_Sixteen years to the day tomorrow."_

_Les nodded. Then he grinned and lifted the pillow up for Kloppman to see. "You still have this thing here?"_

_Diana could tell that Les was trying, in a way, to change the subject. Kloppman could, as well. He smiled gratefully as he followed along. "Your sister told me to leave that there for as long as this place serves as a lodging house. She told me she'd set David on me if I refused."_

_Les laughed. "Oh my. Let's all fear David Jacobs," he said jokingly, unwittingly confirming his identity for Diana's sake._

"_And that was all those years ago. She still checks to see that it's there, you know. But now she threatens me with that husband of hers."_

_Les could not help but laugh a second time. "Well, Spot is a bit more intimidating than Dave," he admitted._

"_Yes…" Kloppman replied before growing serious. "But what about you, boy? To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"_

_It was Les's turn to get serious. "I just wanted to check on you, old man. It gets kind of… well, gloomy around this time of year. First Stress, then Cowboy. The memories, you know."_

"_Yes, I know," Kloppman agreed before shaking his head. "But don't worry about that. I'll be fine. In fact, I – uh, have to finish getting these beds made. I really don't have much time to chat today. You can back tomorrow if you'd like…?" he asked, offering in such a way that told Les that it was a polite gesture and nothing more._

_The man must have been used to such treatment because he did not try to argue. "Alright, Kloppy. I'll check in with you sometime soon. Take care of yourself, alright?"_

"_Of course, kid. You too."_

_Les smiled at Kloppman, hesitating a bit as if he had something else he wanted to say. But he did not say another word. Instead he carefully put the pillow back down – for all Sarah's threats that she would sic David or Spot on the old man, he knew that his sister could be scarier than either of the men; her first pregnancy made her that way – and waved his way out of the bunkroom._

_The old man waited until he heard the echoes of Les's footsteps before whirling about in a way that Diana would never think a man his obvious age was capable of doing. "Cowboy. I want you to appear right this instance."_

Cowboy? _Diana turned around to stare into the space where Kloppman was watching._

_There was that now familiar _pop _and Jack Kelly, just as Diana knew him to look, appeared right before their eyes. He was hovering high in the air, sitting cross-legged, as he rolled his eyes at Kloppman. "How did you know I was here, Kloppy?"_

_The old man looked disdainfully up at the ghost boy. "Jack, after sixteen years of dealing with you, I've learned to tell when you're around – it starts to smell strange, you know."_

_Jack pretended to be offended while Diana grew confused. _If Jack has been dead sixteen years and this Kloppman says that he's dealt with him for sixteen years, what the hell does that mean? _She shook her head. She knew the whole Kloppman angle to this was different than it seemed to be but that was not the important matter at hand just then. What was important was that the purpose behind this particular jaunt into the past was to learn about the connection between Jack, Rhiannon and Kloppman. Right now she had two of the three in her company. _Alright, _she thought, a bit more confident in her abilities to control her visions – she was beginning to think that she had gotten herself lost in the past, _it might just be taking some time but I will get some answers… I think.

_Kloppman was still speaking. "What do you want, Cowboy?"_

_Jack did not answer. Instead, still hovering high in the air, he floated around so that he was upside-down, his head pointing downward, his folded legs at Kloppman's eye level. He was currently sticking his tongue out at Kloppman. Diana giggled. The sight was humorous though she never would admit that to Jack; she only allowed herself to laugh because he could not hear her. If he had been able to, she would have just rolled her eyes at his childish antics._

_Kloppman was not amused. "Turn back around and stand on the ground, Jack. I need to talk to you," he ordered._

_The old man seemed so authoritative – _I guess you have to be to run a boys' lodging house – _that Jack listened at once. As soon as he was upright, he floated down gently, landing his boot-clad feet onto the floor. "What's the matter, Kloppy?"_

"_Listen. I know you get really uppity and antsy around the anniversary of your death," he began and paused when Jack made a face, "and rightfully so," Kloppman added, "but I'm going to need you to not hide out tomorrow. You're going to have to hang out by the lodging house with me."_

"_And why's that?" he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. _

_Diana was not surprised to see that Jack was acting like a child. She laughed to herself again. He still acted that way._

_Kloppman sighed. "I – I found something out. Come tomorrow, tomorrow exactly, you're going to meet someone. A girl, and you'll know her right away, is going to help you. She'll be able to see you, hear you, help you try to learn the truth. She'll be able to come and go. She won't be tied to this damn building like I am."_

_The boy, understandably, looked quite taken aback. Diana, herself, was trying to make sense of what the old man had said – and it wasn't working at all. _How the hell does this Kloppman know about this, _she wondered. _Maybe I'll actually get an answer to my question…

"_Hey, Kloppy," Jack said finally, mirroring Diana's confusion. "How do you know about this?"_

_Kloppman looked embarrassed for a moment. "You won't believe me."_

_Diana glared at the old man; it did not matter if he could see her or not – she was frustrated! "I don't care if he won't believe you. _I _probably won't believe you. But you can't leave me hanging," she said. But, as she knew, neither even acted like they heard her. She stomped her foot; it did not make a sound. She kind of wished that, like when she came across the Jacobs' siblings, she was visible. Maybe then she could get Kloppman to speak up._

_Jack snorted. He obviously was thinking along similar lines as Diana. "Are you kidding me, Kloppy? I'm a ghost. I've been haunting a lodging house for sixteen years and, apart from watching all my friends – friends, mind you, who have no clue that I'm basically spying on them – get married and move on with their lives, I am not one step closer to finding out how she died. You're telling me that I'm gonna finally get help, I'm gonna finally get to talk to someone besides you… Excuse me if I'm little curious to learn _how _you know this."_

"_Alright, I get your point, Cowboy. And I'm sorry that I'm such poor company and all—"_

"_You know I didn't mean that. But don't think I'm dumb enough to notice you're changing the subject."_

_Kloppman laughed. "You got me. Alright, I'll tell you. I know about this girl, your helper, because—" _

_And that's when Diana, without even meaning to or without any knowledge of how it was happening, felt disconnected. Her stomach lurched forward and she felt her feet become separated from the wooden floor. Her eyes were closed and, with all the strength she could, she tried to pry them back open. She only lifted one lid a fraction of the way; she could see Kloppman and Jack, still conversing below her, as she was ripped out of the past._

_The next thing she knew there was a flash and then nothingness…_

"Miss Mason. Wake up, child. Your mother is here."

_Kloppman?_


	26. XXVI

Author's Note: _Yeah, it's a day late. And it's weird. But I introduced Arianrhod – who is quickly becoming my most favorite character of all time. Seriously, doesn't she just seem like an interesting mother-type? Woot. That, and there are some _blatant _hints in this chapter. I had to put some in only because a) we need some sort of conclusion, don't we? And b) this thing is making even _me _confused. I keep finding little things that are slight errors in continuity and fixing them; if you see something that I don't catch, please don't hesitate to tell me. Trust me, I need to know these things. Anywho, enjoy. _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

October 9, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY SIX

--

"Ria? Ria, honey? Is that you?"

Ariadne Cearr fought the urge to roll her impeccably made-up green eyes. How difficult was it, really, for her sister, her _twin _sister no less, to pick her out of the crowd at Penn Station?

It was not difficult for anyone to search out Arianrhod Mason, though. With her large rainbow-colored knitted bag slung over her shoulder, the woman was waving her hand energetically over her head. She was wearing a red and orange tie-dyed shirt with a bright yellow peace sign in the center; the huge size of the shirt made the sleeve look like it was a wing as she waved. The jeans she wore were flowing and bleached. Her long brown curls were short, extending just to her chin, but were hidden by the backwards blue cap she had pulled on top of her head. Ria did not even have to see the front of the baseball hat to know that she was sporting the orange logo of the New York Mets.

In contrast, Ria was wearing her work clothes: a Chanel set, with a tight black woolen top and crisp white linen slacks. It was simple and elegant, with a single strand of pearls enunciating the simplistic, yet classic, look of the outfit. Her characteristic Daite curls were much longer than her twin's but were slicked back into a low bun.

The woman sighed and lifted her hand slightly in the air, in response to Roddy's call. "No, Roddy, dear. There's a third of us running around with our face," she said dryly. There was a hint of a smile on her face, though. She had not seen her sister in almost two years, despite their frequent phone conversations. There was just something innately about Roddy that, no matter how frightened or worried (_like now_) she got, just the sight of the, admittedly, wilder twin made her just _happy_.

Roddy sat her bag down at her feet when she got over to where Ria was waiting for her. "It's great to see you, too, sweetie," she bubbled, sweeping her sister up in a big hug. Ria kept her hands at her sides as Roddy squeezed but eventually gave in and returned the embrace. As she pulled back, her green eyes quickly scanned the waiting area of the Station. "Where's my baby?"

Ria shook her head. "I came straight here from the office. I assume that Diana is either at the apartment or out sight-seeing… or something."

"'Or something'?" Roddy repeated as she re-shouldered her bag. "What do you mean, 'or something'?" She crossed her arms over her chest, looking knowingly up at her sister – she had chosen to wear a simple pair of Keds rather than brutalize her feet by wearing something like Ria's three inch stiletto heels.

Six minutes was six minutes and it was by six minutes that Roddy was the older of the two; it was times like these that Ria really felt those six minutes. "Nothing, Roddy. It's just been a trying couple of days. At the office, I mean," she said quickly. "I wasn't referring to Diana being around because that's great. It's so nice to have someone in the apartment that isn't Kloppman, I must say," she added, continuing to babble.

As Ria spoke, Roddy nodded, keeping her arms crossed. When Ria finally gave her an opening, she snorted. "Just so you know, Ria, I _am _your sister. I _have _known you for nearly forty-four years now. I mean, just in case you want to lie to me further, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not buying that for a second."

Ariadne, perfectly unruffled Ariadne, blinked twice and turned her green eyes away from her twin; Arianrhod could see that a stealthy blush had crept up her face, nearly matching the expertly applied make-up she wore. Ria sighed. "Do you have everything?"

Roddy nodded, amused, as she patted the side over her overstuffed rainbow knitted bag. "Sure do."

"Good. Let's go get a cab," she said before proceeding to exit the waiting area. Roddy followed her sister in silence, taking the escalator that led to the upstairs exit onto 7th Avenue. It was only when they were outside, waiting to flag down a taxi, that Roddy allowed herself to let out the superior laugh she had been holding in. _I knew there was a reason Ria practically begged me to come up this weekend. I just hope it doesn't have anything to do with her ghost stories. And they thought that _I _was the eccentric one…_

--

Jack was not sure how long he spent staring at the one phrase: _Cowboy did it. _It was so simple yet, with those three words, his whole world, his entire existence, was rattled, undermined, unraveled almost. Sitting on his bed, now, rather than hovering above it – he did not have the strength or interest to keep himself afloat – Jack read and re-read those three words over and over, trying to find any other meaning behind it.

Of course, he did not stop there. He would have been even more of a fool if he took the word of a book over his own personal memories. Almost ravishing the pages with his eyes, Jack read on:

**I hope that you, my daughter's daughter (daughter), have not taken to heart what he, and he being Cowboy (or Jack, as I'm sure he said his name is – it's not but never mind that), has told you. Rhiannon, my precious Rhiannon, told me all about him and that mystery of his. I know she thought I would have laughed but I did not. I could not – I knew him. Of course he will say that he is looking for the one who murdered Stress. I think he doesn't really want to admit that he killed her.**

**But he did. Remember that, mine child. Trust me for I am your flesh and blood and you – you are my kin. Do not believe the memories. Do not recall the past. You will believe that you are not who you are. You will imagine that there are two of you within one shell. It is not so. It is a fraud. He is tricking you. Jack Kelly is a liar, a showman. **

**I trusted him once. He betrayed my family. He caused grief because he couldn't accept the truth. He was the one that caused Stress's death – it was his fault she died. It was his fault that he left us behind. It was all his fault, do not forget that. He is a liar. I speak the truth. Trust in family. No one else.**

**Cowboy did it.**

And that was it. Of the entire book, only four pages had been filled in painstakingly with Les Jacobs's childish scrawl. And each of those pages served to reiterate that same phrase: _Cowboy did it._

For the countless time that afternoon – if it was still afternoon; Jack had lost track of the time, staring in almost disbelief at the near seventy-five year old entry in the book – he read the quick note, shut the book again and rested the black cover of the book against his tangible forehead. It was a sorry attempt to absorb the material in a different way; maybe, then, he would interpret it differently.

_I didn't do it, _he repeated to himself. _I was with Race, with Blink. She went back to the girls' home that night. The next time I saw her, she had been stabbed. I tried to help her – I would never hurt her. It's not my fault. I loved her… _Jack dropped the book, resting it in his flat palm, flipping it open so that he could re-read the passage again. _There has got to be something here… something that I'm missing. If I, like Les said, _did it_, then how? Why? How does he know? Did Rhiannon figure it out – and never tell me? Or is this Les's idea? Why would he keep this from me?_

Jack huffed and ran his eyes over the page. Almost as if it was guiding him, the only words that jumped out at him were those same three words: _Cowboy did it. _"I don't believe it," he said finally, his tone defiant yet thick. "I did not kill her. I've never killed anyone before in my life – why would I start with her?"

Four, who had spent most of the afternoon (and night?) hidden under the bed, crawled back out at the sound of Jack's voice. It was not very often that she heard the ghost boy speak in such a way; it was her job, as his faithful companion, to make him feel better (that, and try to give him the occasional clue that _he_ _blatantly ignores_…).

With a pitiful mew, she alerted him to her presence. He did not even glance her way. Four traded her mew for a more forceful meow before she reared back and jumped up, joining him on the bed, demanding his attention. She plodded right over to him and rubbed up against his leg and his ankle, only sitting down when he tore his gaze from the silly book in his hand.

He snapped the book shut and, this time, tossed it beside him, preferring to use that hand to pat absently at Four's soft head. It did not matter, anyway, how many times he re-read those same four pages; every word, every phrase, every _implication_, was etched into his memory. But, despite his own certainty that everything that Les had written were lies, he could not help but wish that he had left the book in its resting place in the 'Fate' box.

--

Alfred Kloppman was just setting up drinks for the two women – seltzer water for Ms. Ariadne and a glass of diet coke, with a hint of lime, for her twin – when he heard the door open. Ms. Ariadne had phoned him while she was waiting for Arianrhod at the train station so he knew to expect them soon – but not this soon. He had not yet retrieved Miss Mason from her room, or chased Jack away (if, by chance, the ghost boy was still hanging about the house). Not that he expected the boy to still be there; there had not been a peep from Miss Mason all day and he could not see her being so quiet if Jack was still around to antagonize her.

"Kloppman? Diana?"

Kloppman wiped his hands against his faded black pants (as it was still his day off, he forsake wearing his good pants), drying them of any condensation the drinks had left behind, before leaving the den and entering into the main hallway. "You called, ma'am?" he asked as he navigated his way down the hallway until he was in the main room of the apartment.

"Alfred! You still alive?" Roddy called out, by way of greeting. She dropped her bag again just inside of the room and, this time, gathered the old man into one of her huge hugs. She had lived in the penthouse with Ria for a few years after finishing college and before she met her husband, Dylan; Kloppman, who she understood to be the son of the man she had grown up with as the previous caretaker of the building, was someone she (thought) she knew well when he cared for the apartment, those few years. "When are you going to retire and let your son take over this place, eh? What was his name again?"

Kloppman was glad that, due to her tight grip, she did not expect him to answer right away; he was having trouble breathing as it was, his breath catching in his throat at her question. He had always, every time he masqueraded as a new Kloppman, mentioned the next in line, an imaginary son whose identity he would eventually assume, just to keep up the pretense. It had become a habit; ever since the mid-eighties, when he took over as the fourth in a line of Kloppman's, he had lauded a son, even though such a son would never be necessary – the time limit would have come to a close by then. _But what did I call him? _It had been so long since anyone asked about him that he had actually forgotten about him. _Did I just call him Alfred like I normally do or did I change it up like I did when I was Harold Kloppman? _"Umm…"

Roddy did not seem to notice his stalling. As she released him from her hold, she snapped her fingers. "Freddy, that was it," she said, remembering the name herself – to Kloppman's immense relief. "Good times, eh, Alfred?"

"Why, yes, Mrs. Mason," he said, his voice a bit strangled from the intensity of her squeeze. Arianrhod always was the touchy-feely sister; her openness had often unnerved him.

"Don't be so stiff, Alfred. I've known you forever – call me Roddy."

"Of course, Mrs. Mason."

She laughed before picking her battered bag up from off of the floor. "Always the same, Alfred. Some things never change," she said before looking around the room. Her eyes widened at the black and white motif of the decorations, the extensive appliances and all the expensive glass furniture. "Though this place definitely has. No wonder you never had any kids, Ria, honey. They would destroy this place in an instant, wouldn't they?"

Ria just smiled thinly and nodded. She was already having second thoughts to inviting her sister over for the weekend. She loved her sister – Arianrhod was probably the only mortal person that she could admit to loving – but she was just so _difficult _to put up with sometimes.

Roddy continued on speaking, not really paying attention to the reactions of either Kloppman (who was just nodding along good-naturedly with the exuberant woman) or Ariadne (who was seconds away from raising her fingers to her temples for some relief); it had been a long train ride and she had no service for her new cell phone (there had been a two-for-one deal when she purchased Diana's graduation present) while riding. Besides, it felt nice to talk to her family again. "Hey, speaking of kids," she continued, gesturing into the apartment, "is mine here?"

Kloppman started at the question; Ria noticed the motion and had to almost will herself not to grow nervous. _What was that about? _Instead, she adopted a faux smile and bestowed it upon the elderly butler. "Yes, Kloppman. Where is Diana?"

"Miss Mason is in her bedroom, ma'am." He bowed his head. "I have prepared drinks for you, ladies, in the den. Pardon me while I go fetch the girl." Before either of the two women could offer to go in his stead, Kloppman disappeared down the hallway towards the guest room.

When he found himself just outside of the closed door, he paused and knocked. "Miss Mason?" There came no answer. He tried again. "Miss Mason? Your mother is here." Still no answer.

Kloppman sighed and, crossing his fingers behind his back, he reached for the doorknob. Slowly, as if to give the girl time in case she was doing something that she should not be doing (like trying to strangle an already dead boy, for example), he pushed the door inward. "Miss Mason?"

The girl, as far as the old man could see, was in the room – and she was alone. Jack was not there. He snorted. Really, after the occurrences from that morning, he had not expected the boy to stay long in the apartment. He was, however, surprised to see that Diana was lying on her bed, in her street clothes.

At first glance it looked like she was sleeping; upon closer inspection, he could see that her green eyes were open wide as if she was staring straight up at the ceiling, thinking maybe. She definitely was not sleeping. _But, _reasoned Kloppman as he walked quietly into the room, _why was she ignoring me when I knocked? What is going on?_

It was not until he was standing beside her bed, half-way made, that he figured out what was going on; the picture of a young Rhiannon Daite and Les Jacobs helped him to discover the truth: the girl was having one of those fits that Jack had told him about. While her body remained in the present, her mind had traveled to the past.

He knew he was right at once. She was rigid and stiff, lying on her back. Her face was staring straight up, her hands at her side, her mouth slight open. She was breathing but it was a shallow breath. _Strange…  
_  
"Miss Mason?" he said gently, slowly reaching his hand out to her. _Is it possible to wake her from this state? I mean, how am I supposed to explain to her mother that she's catatonic – but not catatonic. In the past, instead, right... I can see it now – they'd have those young fellas in the white coats here for me before I could blink. _He shook his head as his hesitant hand made contact with her bare arm. "Miss Mason. Wake up, child. Your mother is here," he added, shaking her slightly. Her flesh was cold to the touch, he noticed.

That was not the only thing that Kloppman noticed. Almost at once, she flinched as she began to come back from her vision. He drew his hand back quickly but stayed looming over her, watching as she woke up. There was something about the transformation – from past to present state – that caught his attention. The old man was not sure at first why he was almost ogling the girl but it hit him; as soon as her confused expression met his gaze and he backed away, embarrassed for being caught watching her, he realized what about her had made him stare.

It was just as Diana's mouth closed, her eyes seemed to regain a semblance of normalcy, and her body relaxed, there was something about her; in that brief moment when she was regaining consciousness, her features seemed to take on those of another young girl he remembered. In that quick second before Diana blinked away the last vestige of whatever vision had stolen her from 1999 New York, Kloppman saw someone else, someone from the past.

In Diana, Kloppman saw Stress.


	27. XXVII

Author's Note: _Definitely my fault. I just could not get this chapter going – and I've been struggling with it since Saturday. Ask Rae – she knows. I've been telling her all week that I was getting to it (I still owe you another e-mail, darling. It's a-coming, woot) but it just wasn't working. Good news, though: even though it took me _forever _to get this out, I'm still planning on getting the next chapter out on Sunday, as I normally try to do. And, since I had intended to put the next part in with this before changing my mind, I know what's happening next. Bad news: I have no clue what's happening after that. Isn't it fun to play this by ear? Yay Anywho, here's the (late) chapter – read it, review it, enjoy it. Cookies to anyone who can tell me what movie they are going to see. Trust me, it's a film that really relates to the idea of the story. Man, was I glad that movie came out in 1999. :) _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

October 20, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY SEVEN

--

The eerie resemblance Kloppman thought he saw was gone before he even had the chance to get a better look. Before he knew it, Diana was awake, staring incredulously at him, as the old man wondered if the similarity he glimpsed was just his imagination. But, then again, maybe not. After living four lifetimes, Alfred Kloppman would not put it past this whole awkward mess to bring the poor dead girl back in the body of Rhiannon Daite's great-granddaughter – who, as it was, was already the spitting image of her great-grandmother.

"Mr. Kloppman? Did you… Did you say something?" Diana blinked twice and yawned, pretending that she was waking up from a natural sleep. _How long was he here? Did I do anything weird this time – is that why he's _still _staring at me? And why is it that _this _Kloppman looks just the same as the one I was just watching? Jesus, is this just the mystery of the freaking twins, or what? Me and Rhiannon Daite. Kloppman and Kloppman? Weird._

He shook his head and backed away, pushing up the glasses that had slid down his nose. "Miss Mason. You're awake. I mean," he leaned up straight and cleared his throat, "yes, I did say something. Your… uh… your mother is here. With your aunt."

Diana, who, in continuation of her act, had been lazily rubbing at one of her green eyes, paused; she left her hand at eye-level as she openly stared at the elderly man. "Mom… here? Already? Wha…?"

"Yes, Miss Mason," Kloppman replied. "Your mother just arrived with Ms. Ariadne. They are waiting for you in the den." There was a hint of humor in his tone but he also sounded gentle. He did not, however, question her on her strange – and notably fake – actions. Likewise, she did not say anything about waking up from her vision to find Kloppman staring at her, looking as if he had seen a ghost. Or, at least, how a normal person would look if they had seen a ghost; this guy, she knew, was unflappable in that department. He had not even flinched upon coming face to face with the ghost of Jack Kelly.

Diana nodded and lifted her hands to fix her hair; her curls had flattened as she laid out on the bed. Kloppman just stood there, waiting to accompany the girl back to the den. Neither mentioned the ghost boy from this morning nor the way each had found the other as Diana woke up. Both seemed to think, without saying it aloud, that it would be better to pretend this whole awkward scene had never happened.

As soon as she carelessly pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, Diana slid out of the bed and started to head out of the room. She had only taken a few steps before she heard the assured (though slower) footsteps of the butler behind her. She could not help it; just as soon as she stepped out into the main hallway of the penthouse apartment, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. In no way had Diana expected to wake up to Kloppman's wrinkly old face; she was impressed with the way she hid her surprise and turned that surprise into the laziness inherent to being stolen away from a satisfying sleep. _The last thing I need is for Kloppman to start asking questions of _me _instead of the other way around, _Diana thought.

"Diana, baby! Come give your mother a big hug."

How her mother knew that it was her heading towards the den, Diana would never know, but she made sure that she had pasted one heck of a grin onto her face before entering the den. She could just imagine how her mother would react to a less than enthusiastic welcome. "Mom," she said, widening her grin. It was good to see her mother again.

Roddy, however, acted as if it had been more than three days since she last saw Diana. Leaving her bag and her baseball cap (_Oh, lordy, Mom wore her Mets hat? And no freaking Yankees fans jumped her? Wow…_) to rest next to Ria on the leather sofa, she jumped up and, after nearly knocking into the glass coffee table, hurried over to her daughter. She wrapped her in a tight squeeze to rival the one she awarded Kloppman; Diana's breath caught in her throat and she had to cough once to give her mother the hint to let her go. "Oh, Di, honey. New York looks good on you."

Diana thought of the clothes she had thrown on that morning – a tank top and a pair of light blue jeans. Nothing special. Her hair was a mess, she knew, and she was sure that there was still something _off _about her following her latest vision. What the hell was her mother saying? Rather than shake her head and look at her mother like she was crazy, Diana continued to smile. She lifted her hand self-consciously to pull at her curls. "Really? Thanks, mom."

"Of course, dear," Roddy said, taking Diana's hand and leading her over to the sofa. "I mean, now that you're going to be eighteen next month, I think it's about time that you get to visit the City again. Makes you look older already," she added as she gestured for Diana to sit down on the sofa next to Ria.

Ria, though, seemed to have a different idea in mind. As Diana, in order to please her mother – as strange as her mother was at times, it was always better for Roddy Mason to be scatterbrained and energetic; she got scary when she was upset – went to sit down, Ria held up her manicured hand. Both women stopped, standing in front of the couch.

She looked so authoritative in her office clothes that she made Diana feel like a frump in comparison; she could only wonder how her mother, dressed in that old tie-dyed shirt she loved so much, felt. Then again, considering the fact that Roddy normally wore clothes that flattered her slender frame (instead of hiding it like her hippie shirt), Diana could only assume that her mother wore such an outfit just to get a rise out of her twin sister. And, from the way Ria's green eyes kept straying over Roddy's clothes before her mouth puckered, almost as if she had just unwittingly taken a bite from a lemon, Diana knew that it was working.

"Roddy?" Both mother and daughter kept their attention on Ariadne as she rose to her feet. "You didn't forget about the plans I told you about, did you?"

From the confused look on her face it appeared as if she had. But then, just as Ria was covering her eyes with her hand out of mild frustration, Arianrhod cracked a smile and shook her head, letting her short curls – no longer kept prisoner by her hat – bounce. "Oh, come now, Ria. I'm an adult. I successfully raised another adult," she added, pausing to beam at Diana before looking past Diana and focusing on her sister, "and you still think I'm that kid I was… What? Twenty years ago? Thirty, maybe?" The woman laughed. "I may be more fun than you are but I'm not a complete drip. I actually went out and _lived _my life."

There was a moment when Ariadne was not sure whether or not to be offended by her sister's comment. She chose to ignore her; after all, she was never sure just how much her sister remembered about their childhood or how they each had been affected by it. She, unfortunately, remembered _everything_ but, after Diana's birth in 1981, Roddy seemed to forget everything. There were times, however, when a snippet of the Jack Kelly story seemed to strike a chord with her, or when Roddy would talk about things that she had seen in one of Jack's pictures – it was during those brief moments of recognition that she had been able to convince her sister to keep Diana in New Jersey following her sixteenth birthday. She had not wanted her only niece to fall pray to the devil boy's tricks. And, yet, she had failed. She had let down her guard, invited her sister's child in and, by doing so, basically handed her straight over to him. _No. I will not let him ruin tonight. I will not let that damn ghost bother me anymore…_

Ria could feel the uncertain gaze coming from Diana's direction. Her niece was looking from one of the grown twins to the next, trying to understand just what her mother meant – and trying to figure out just what had caused her aunt to look so upset . _I wonder if Diana's trying to tie any of this banter to her present predicament with that scamming specter, _she thought, trying not to let her distaste show any more than it had. She wanted to enjoy the night. It _had _been almost two years since she spent any time with her niece, let alone her twin sister. She tried to bring a smile to her face but it did not stick. In her mind's eye she could still see the smirking face of the eternally youthful boy. And it _did _bother her.

"Touché," Ria said, not even bothering trying to hide her sigh. She lowered her eyes and rubbed out an imaginary wrinkle from her trousers. When she looked back up, she was smiling. Whether it was genuine or not was not a factor; she was trying. She dared a glance at the expensive silver watch on her left wrist. "It is now a little after six. The tickets I have are for eight. That gives us some time to, well, to get ready," she said, one of her pencil thin eyebrows raising a bit as she finished her statement.

Diana was not sure if she was referring to her mother's (purposely?) outlandish get-up or the wrinkled state of her own clothing; the tank top was all mussed after her long nap. Either way, after the day she had had, Diana was ready to shower again. But, before she did, she looked over to her aunt. "Tickets? Tickets for what?" She was curious and, when she got curious, Diana started to ask questions.

Ariadne relaxed a bit, looking much more like the woman Diana had seen the past few days – it really was odd how guarded Ria became when Roddy was around. "Well, I have a friend down at the office who dabbles a bit in filmmaking. As it turns out, a director friend of his has completed his third feature film. It's not going to be released until August but he's doing a cozy little premiere for it tonight. Tony – Anthony, really, the man from the office? He knows that you," she continued, turning and gesturing quite elegantly at Diana, "are spending the summer with me and he thought it would be a treat for you to get a sneak viewing of this movie. He was more than happy to reserve a fourth seat for us for your mother."

"Fourth seat? My, are we actually going to _meet _this man of your's, Ria?" Roddy interrupted. "You didn't say anything like that on the taxi ride over. It must have just slipped your mind, I dare say."

For the second time since returning back to the apartment, Ria was not sure how to respond to her sister. At least, this time, she did not have to worry about that. As Roddy watched her bemusedly, and Diana continued to stand there, confused, Kloppman made his entry back into the den. _And not a moment too soon…_

"Madams? Will you be eating dinner here tonight?" he asked, sounding much more like a servant than he had been. Only Diana seemed to notice, though.

Ria seemed quite grateful for his interruption but, nevertheless, she shook her head. "No, thank you, Alfred. We have tickets to a film tonight. Besides, it's your day off. You don't need to worry about us."

Kloppman bowed his head. He had been expecting such a response. On the one hand, knowing that the three Daite girls would be out for the evening made Kloppman feel a bit more freedom. It had been quite easier, the past few years, to keep his secret from Ms. Ariadne – the woman, as much as she was at the office, was never home.

However, with the introduction of Diana Mason into the household, it was getting much harder to act as a seventy-five year old man rather than a one hundred and seventy-five year old man. There was just something about that girl – he had felt it before but now, after the strange way she appeared as Stress to him while she was sleeping (_if that was even sleep…_), there seemed to be something even stranger about her. Throw in Mrs. Mason, who had _always_ seemed strange to him – in a way that had nothing to do with the quest – and Kloppman would have been kidding himself if he said that he wanted the women to stay in for the night.

And, of course, if the women would be out, then maybe he could spend more time coaching Jack into discovering the truth. His actions from the morning showed Kloppman that, even after ninety-nine years of being a ghost, he had learned nothing. _Honestly, the boy followed the girl into the shower. What was he thinking? _There were only two months left, after all. Despite not being able to go any further than to the end of the block, Kloppman would have to do everything he could to solve this mystery. He was not particularly looking forward to spending all of eternity in the fiery depths of Hell.

But, on the other hand, maybe it would be better, over all, if the women stayed in where he could see them. It had been the first time in years that three of the Daite girls were inside the cursed building; maybe something would trigger a long suppressed memory? Even though, according to the information Ms. Ariadne let slip when she was too upset to keep it in all to herself, Arianrhod Mason forgot everything, maybe the history of the building, couple with the presence of Jack's spirit and Kloppman's aged wisdom, would be enough to make her remember. Who knows? Maybe, between the five of them – well, four, really; he was not desperate enough to reveal his role in the whole ordeal – the answer would finally be found.

Kloppman knew he must look strange at that moment. Ms. Ariadne had dismissed him but, rather than leave the den, he had remained, his head bowed as he thought to himself. It was then, as the unnatural quiet – the Daite girls were _never _quiet, he learned, not a one of them –seemed to bring him back to his present surroundings. He glanced up and, lifting his hand, pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Enjoy yourselves. Ms. Ariadne. Mrs. Mason." He paused and looked at Diana. "Miss Mason," he added, looking at her pointedly. He held the stare for a moment before leaving the room.

She could not help it. As Ria and Roddy went back to their conversation, Diana felt weird. If she had to explain it, it felt as if, at once, her head was suddenly filled to its capacity – and then some. There was a vague sensation that she was not herself but she had no way of understanding just what was happening. All Diana knew was a sickening sensation as her knees wobbled and her stomach turned. There was something about the look that Mr. Kloppman had given her; she felt that she had been on the receiving end of such a concerned yet affirmative stare from the old man countless times before. And, yet, she had only met the old man three days ago. Right?

It was a good thing that Diana was still standing next to the sofa, still standing in between her mother and her aunt. As her strength seemed to flee from her, and she felt as if she was going to get sick, what happened next was a natural reaction: she allowed her legs to buckle under her before she fell down onto the leather seat.


	28. XXVIII

Author's Note: _Well, it's Sunday but it's not Friday yet, either :) I could blame it on my two midterms this week (school is always a great scapegoat) but I actually figured out why I hate this plot arc. After sitting down and trying to plot out the next course of events in this story, I realized what it was that made me so annoyed: It has been quite a few chapters since I had a Jack and Diana scene – for me, the interaction between those two characters make the story. But, these past few (and next two or so) chapters are significant and need to be done even if they are giving me so much trouble. _

_This chapter, though it might not seem so, is very important. I know I say that a lot but that's because I'm trying to set up the story as a whole – as a reader, you can never forget that this whole thing is revolving around one mystery (even though there is a lot more too it than that, as anyone who sat through all 70,000 words know). Anywho, pay attention (like always). And, if you guys have any ideas as to where I'm going – theories or suggestions – feel free to share them. I'm just wondering whether or not people have any idea where I'm going with this. I hope so. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

October 24, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY EIGHT

--

Kloppman had been on his way out of the room when the girl collapsed onto the leather sofa. He did not see her fall; he heard Mrs. Mason shriek out in surprise, instead. He stopped right inside of the den's doorway and looked over his shoulder. Miss Mason had gone dreadfully pale and wore a vacant expression but her eyes were open. She looked almost frightened.

Both women had seen the girl, who had been standing between them, fall onto the couch. Arianrhod shrieked, bringing her hand to her mouth. "Diana, baby, what's wrong?"

Ariadne, rather than panic, knelt down as properly as she could and placed her hand up against Diana's forehead. It felt cool to her touch and she sighed – from all the countless times her mother had checked her temperature the same way, Ariadne knew that, as long as she did not have a fever, Diana would be okay.

As soon as her aunt had drawn her hand back, Diana shook her head. The feeling, as quickly as it had come, faded just as fast and she felt quite silly. Mr. Kloppman was standing at the door, carefully watching the scene, while her mother and aunt looked nervous. Diana let out a high-pitched chuckle; it was not what she intended to do – the sound made her mother look all the more worried – but she was too nervous. It unnerved her to have three pairs of eyes focused on her. "I'm fine, Mom," she said, trying to sit up. There was a lingering feeling of nausea – it reminded her vaguely of the time she had gone on the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty and gotten seasick – but, apart from that, she felt better. At the very least, her head did not feel as crowded.

Diana could see that neither her mother nor her aunt believed her. She smiled. "Seriously, guys. I… uh… I just had a dizzy spell, I guess. But it passed." She tried to sound more convincing. "Really. I'm okay," she added, laughing self-consciously. It just occurred to her that, if her mother thought she was getting ill, she might want to send her home. And Diana was not able to take the blame for sending two spirits to hell just because she got nauseous.

Ariadne patted Diana on her arm before using the sofa to get back on her feet. She tottered a bit on her stiletto heels; Arianrhod, if she had not been so busy looking at her daughter, trying to discern whether or not she was telling the truth, might have laughed at the way her chic sister almost lost her balance.

But she was preoccupied with Diana's nervousness. She could not help but notice that her daughter was unable to meet her eyes. Though, moments ago, she had worn a fretful expression, Arianrhod seemed to make sense of the situation; her maternal instincts were kicking in – Diana did not have a chance. "Honey, did you eat at all today?" She knew that Diana sometimes felt faint when she skipped a meal. Could that be it?

Diana continued to look guilty. Her eyes roamed all over the room before settling on her mother's chest; it was close enough to make it look like she was speaking to her mother without giving her mother the opportunity to see if she was lying or not. "Of course, Mom. I had peanut butter and jelly for lunch, only a couple of hours ago." She dared a peek at her mother's face; she looked skeptical. "I had two sandwiches, really. And a glass of milk," she added. "No crusts, though."

Arianrhod chuckled a bit at that. Diana never ate the crust; most likely – because, she had learned years ago, you can never _really _trust a teenager – she was telling the truth. "Alright," she conceded, "you ate. But have you been getting enough sleep?" Just because Diana ate (if she did), it did not explain why she fell; no normal, healthy seventeen year old girl had a dizzy spell without any reason.

_More than you'd know_, Diana thought to herself before nodding. "Yes, Mom. To tell you the truth, I was actually sleeping when you got here. You can even ask Mr. Kloppman," she said, turning to her left to point to the elderly butler. However, the man was no longer standing by the door; sometime following her fall, Kloppman had left. She shrugged. "It was nothing, really, Mom. I think I was just excited about going out tonight."

Arianrhod continued to look upon her daughter with mild disbelief but she did not ask any further questions – though that could be because Ariadne took the opportunity, during that quick silence, to jump back into the conversation. She cleared her throat and glanced at her watch pointedly. "Roddy, if we _are _going to go out tonight, we should get ready. It's already 6:30."

Diana turned back to face her mother. She could just hear what her mother was thinking – _I think it might be better for my baby to stay inside tonight... _– and knew that she needed to say something to change her mind before she firmly decided to stay in. "Mom, I—" she began. However, she started to speak just as her mother was say, "I think it—"

They both laughed when they realized that they were both speaking; Ariadne just rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch again. Arianrhod gestured to Diana. "What were you saying, dear?"

"Mom, I think Aunt Ria's right. We don't want her to be late for her date, do we?" Diana hated to do that to her aunt but, if her mother decided to spend the night at the apartment, there was always the chance that Jack might _pop _in for a visit. She was not sure if the ghost boy could track her down across the City but she was well aware that he could find her if she stayed inside her room.

Arianrhod's smile flew back to her face; she paused to think it over for a moment before nodding. She was such a match-maker at heart – she could not pass up the chance to meet someone that her sister might have taken a fancy to. After all, Ariadne had always been such a loner, never having real fans except for her twin. She had not changed as she aged. This Anthony man that she had mentioned was the first _person _that Roddy heard her sister bring up in conversation in… well, ever. But she had to check on Diana one more time. "Are you sure that you're alright, Di?"

Diana knew that she had won the moment her mother started to nod. "Definitely, Mom. I'll be fine."

"Good," interjected Ariadne. "Now let's get ready. Like you said, we wouldn't want to be late, right?" Surprisingly, the woman did not look cross. If Arianrhod did not know any better, one would think she looked almost anxious to be going out.

--

"Mom. How do I look?" Diana entered the den, twirling as she made her way in through the door. Though she very rarely wore dresses or skirts if she could help it, she had packed one nice outfit: a white blouse and a pink skirt, with a rose print. It was a flowy material and it spun around her as she twirled. She had let her curls down; they spread out nearly as far as her skirt did.

Arianrhod stood up and clapped. "Oh, you look beautiful, baby. I don't know why you don't dress like that normally."

Diana stopped twirling and raised an eyebrow. Her mother had traded her over-size tie-dyed shirt for a salmon colored sweater with pearl buttons running down the middle; she wore pressed black pants instead of her jeans, with strappy black shoes. Her hat was gone and her hair was fluffed. She looked just how she normally looked. _I knew those old clothes of Mom's were just a joke to get Aunt Ria riled up_, she thought. "You look pretty nice, too, Mom."

Arianrhod laughed. "Di, you should have seen your aunt's face when she met me at Penn Station. Bless her, though, she didn't even say a word."

Diana joined in on the laughter – just as Ariadne entered into the room. Considering she was the one dressed up to begin with, it was interesting that it took her the longest to get ready; she had changed out of her Chanel suit and had put on a black dress that fit her perfectly. Her hair was pulled back elegantly but she had exchanged her three inch stiletto heels for a pair of simple black flats. She was now the same height as her twin sister – except for their hair styles, and the excess make-up that Ariadne wore, it would be very difficult to tell the women apart.

She took one step into the room and let her gaze settle on both her sister and her niece. She did not say anything about their appearances – the elegance of their dress was offset by their infectious laughter just then – but nodded approvingly. "Are we ready? I don't want to keep Tony waiting for us."

Arianrhod, as the adult, tried to control the laughter first. When she did, she looked knowingly at her sister. "Oh, for goodness sake, we would never want that to happen."

Ariadne shook her head royally. If she began to argue with her sister, they would never leave. She would wait until they returned to the apartment later that night. "Let's go. We need to get a cab."

Diana could not help but groan as she followed her mother (laughing again) and her aunt (trying to look as if her sister's laughter was not bothering her) out of the den.

--

"Ria. I'm so glad you could make it. You look stunning."

Diana looked around to see who it was that was addressing her aunt. Considering she was still sitting in the taxi cab – thankfully still alive; this driver was bad but, at least, he was not as bad as the one she had on Thursday – it was quite difficult. Her aunt had exited the cab first; she was waiting for her mother to get out next.

"And this must be your sister, Roddy. Just as beautiful as you are, Ria. I must be lucky to have two such lovelies accompanying me inside the theatre."

_Well, that makes sense. They're twins, _Diana thought wryly as she watched her mother climb out of the cab. Then it was her turn; she was surprised when, as she tried to climb out of the back seat, there was a hand waiting for her. She hesitated but figured that, if who ever owned the hand intended to hurt her, she had her mother and aunt right there. Nevertheless, it was a loose grip. Just in case.

The hand was attached to a very handsome man in an expensive suit – even if he had to be at least twenty-five years older than her. He was shorter than she would expect, given his deep voice, but he was still an inch or two taller than she was. _No wonder Aunt Ria traded her stilettos for flats_, Diana mused as she continued to look the man over.

He had dark hair, streaked with grey, with eyes that matched. His face was smooth and his grin true; but, the more she looked at him, the more she thought that this was the man's poker face – almost as if there was something hiding underneath the outermost layer. A façade, really. Diana pulled her hand back; he had not let go of her hand yet and the prolonged contact was making her nervous. "Hello," she said, shyly.

"Hello," he said, smiling warmly at her. "You must be Ria's pretty little niece."

Diana nodded, trying hard to keep her face straight. Something about him was rubbing her the wrong way – and she had no idea why. "And you must be Anthony." Her face may have been straight but she had trouble keeping the contempt out of her voice. It was as if it was not her speaking – even if it was her voice.

The man laughed. To Diana, it sounded like fingernails running down a chalkboard. She flinched. He did not notice; he was busy looking at Ariadne. "I see you told her about me, Ria." He laughed again before turning back to Diana and her mother. "My name is Anthony Higgins, darling, but you can call me Tony."

Diana's face betrayed her and split into an overly fake and patronizing grin. Ariadne was too preoccupied, alternately glancing at her watch and then staring at Anthony's profile, to notice the rude gesture. Arianrhod, however, got the look and shook her head; ever since Diana's spell in the den, her maternal instincts had been running on high gear – she did not even have to be looking at Diana to know that she disliked Ariadne's friend.

Arianrhod placed a comforting hand on Diana's blouse. "Of course, Tony. It's really great for us to meet you. Right, Diana?"

The sound of her mother's voice had a calming effect on Diana. She shook her head and all negativity flew out. She was back to her normal self with only the hint of wondering just what had happened. "Um… yeah. Right, Mom."

"Great," Anthony replied, grinning broadly. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. He removed four tickets from inside the envelope before putting it back inside his jacket. He spread the four tickets out so that they were being fanned. "Well, ladies. Are we ready to go inside?"

Ariadne nodded. "It's already quarter to eight. We probably should be getting inside now, Tony. We don't want to miss the show." She was openly grinning again, just like she had right before Diana and Arianhrod had gone to get dressed. Diana could see that she really liked this man.

She felt guilty for the way she had treated him during their introduction. _I might as well be nice to him. If I can be nice to Jack Kelly, I can be nice to this Tony Higgins for Aunt Ria's sake. _She matched her aunt's grin. "I can't wait to go inside, Tony. I really want to thank you for inviting my mother and me."

He seemed surprised that she was acting so politely to him; he had not acknowledged her rudeness but it had not gone by unnoticed. "It's my pleasure. Diana, is it?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Diana," he repeated and, for a second, she felt that queer sensation again that she did not like this man. She shrugged it off. "By the way, what movie is it that your friend is premiering? Maybe I've heard of it."

"Well, I'm not too sure of that, honey," he said, lifting the tickets up so that he could read the name of the movie. "My buddy, Night, hasn't really done much publicity for it yet. As far as I know, this is the first time that he's showing it in front of a crowd." He paused as he actually read the film's name. "But, because you're curious, I'll tell you. It's a thriller film called the 'Sixth Sense'. I think it has Bruce Willis in it. Have you heard of it?"

Diana squinted as she tried to remember if she had heard of the film before. She shook her head. "No, I haven't."

Ariadne jumped in. "I'm sure we'll all enjoy the movie, Tony. But it's getting close. Can we…?"

"Of course, Ria. It's right this way," Anthony said, reaching for Ariadne's hand. Ariadne offered it, her blush hidden almost entirely by the make-up she re-applied before leaving her apartment.

Arianrhod and Diana shared a quick glance together, snickering almost, as they followed the pair up to the theatre.


	29. XXIX

Author's Note: _Woot, another Tuesday update. I figured, given that this is a ghost story, what better day to update than on Halloween. Right? Well, that and I spent yesterday working on my Halloween one-shot (_Oh snap – _go read it). Either way, I got this chapter out. A little bit weirder than I first intended but I thought it was high time that our mother and daughter had a little chat before I shipped Roddy back off to New Jersey. This should open up some more questions – mwahahaha. Are you guys getting frustrated yet? I noticed how everyone picked up on the Anthony Higgins reference – and no, I couldn't resist. That will come into play soon enough, too. Trust me, it will all make sense. _

_Okay, now it's poll the readers time. I'm finishing up this little arc (and I'll finally be on day 4 come next week, thank you!) and I'm torn on which way to go next. Instead of raising more questions, I want to answer one. Besides the real obvious one of who is the murderer, of course (and why Anthony Higgins is important – I gotta make you wait for that. He's not the murderer, though.) So, if you want, leave a review with what you want to know. Maybe I'll pick that to answer. Woot. _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

October 31, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART TWENTY NINE

--

There was a knock at her bedroom door. Though Diana would never admit it – she was near eighteen, after all, and had her pride – she jumped at the sound. "Yes?" Her voice was higher than normal and she cursed at herself for sounding frightened.

"Diana, baby. Are you alright?" It was her mother.

Diana squeezed the old stuffed toy within her arms. Bambi made everything better. "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine." Actually, she was anything but fine. However, she could not tell her mother that. She was still worried that, sometime before she went back home Sunday night, Arianrhod might decide to bring Diana back with her. She cleared her throat. "I'm good."

"You want to let me in?"

_Not really… _"Sure, Mom. Just give me a second," Diana called back. She took a deep breath, placed Bambi down on the bed and slid onto the floor. Her feet never remained in one spot for long, though; she basically floated over to the door, she ran there so fast. With a quick twist of her wrist, the door was unlocked. She hurried back and jumped on top of the bed, slightly panting. "It's open."

Arianrhod Mason opened the door slowly before poking her head inside of the room. "Hey."

"Come in. And… uh… shut the door behind you, would you? Thanks," Diana said, smiling weakly up at her mother. She was barely meeting her eye; she seemed to be looking past her instead.

Arianrhod wondered just what had come over the girl; apart from taking an instant dislike to Ariadne's friend – she was her mother, after all, and was more acquainted with that annoyed expression than she would care to admit – Diana had been her normal, inquisitive (if not sarcastic) self all night. But, following the movie, she had changed. She had not said more than one word in the cab ride back to the apartment – and that word had been a 'no' when her aunt asked her if she wanted to stop and get some takeout. Said she was not hungry and just wanted to go to bed.

But, now, a good hour had passed since they returned back to the apartment and Diana was still wide awake. Ariadne had gone straight to bed; Kloppman, as old as he was, was surely sleeping by now. Arianrhod, herself, would have been sleeping if not for that innate maternal sense she had that told her something was wrong with Diana. Well, that and the fact that, on her trip to the bathroom, she had seen the light from Diana's bedroom seeping out from under the door and into the hallway.

Without trying to look too concerned, Arianrhod entered the room, making sure to shut it behind her. She adopted a kind smile and made her way over to Diana's bed. She hiked up her dress pants – she had not had the chance to change yet; she had been on her way to do so when she saw that Diana was still up – and sat down beside the teen.

She looked her daughter over quickly; she did not like what she saw. Diana was ghostly pale and her green eyes were wide. She was clutching her old child's toy to her chest and her mother was certain that something was wrong. Diana only looked to Bambi for support when she was upset. "Are you sure that you're not hungry, Di?" she asked, hoping the problem was as simple as that. _Maybe_ _she is regretting passing up dinner…_

Diana shook her head. "Not really, Mom. I mean, I feel fine and all. I'm just not in the mood to eat right now."

"Diana," her mother began, giving in to her urge to pat Diana's hand. It was such a 'mom' type thing to do. "I can see that something is bothering you. Why don't you tell me? I'm sure it'll make you feel better."

_Sure thing, Mom. Let's see… Up until three days ago, I thought I was perfectly normal. I thought that our _family _was perfectly normal. But then I ran into Jack Kelly. You know – that cute boy I mentioned on the phone this morning? Well he's cute and all but, get this – he's dead. Yup, been dead for almost a century. And you know what he tells me? That it's up to me to figure out who killed his girlfriend. _

_Yeah, she's dead, too. And she died in 1899 so, basically, what I have to do is try to solve a 100 year old murder that… hmmm… you and Aunt Ria could not solve, that Grandma Étaín could not do anything about. Or Rhiannon Daite – who looks like my twin, I should add – for that matter. _

_Now, I figure you must have forgotten about all this – if only I could – but Aunt Ria… Aunt Ria definitely has not forgotten and she doesn't think I should help Jack, the ghost boy, at all. So now if I decide to help this annoying specter – did I forget to mention that he spied on me while I was in the shower? Yeah, real annoying, that one – I have to go against Aunt Ria's wishes. But that's alright, I guess. Aunt Ria has a new friend and, for some strange reason, he bugs the hell out of me. She can spend time with Tony while I spend my freaking summer vacation with a dead boy. Hey, maybe I can enlist Mr. Kloppman's help, too – because, oh yeah, the old man can see the ghost, too. And he doesn't seem freaked out by it at all. _

_So, here I am, with only two months to find out who murdered this Stress person and why she was so great to have been killed in the first place. Cause, I'll tell you, I've seen her and – surprise – she kind of looks like she belongs to our family. No great shakes there. But I said that I would do it, so I will – as best as I can. Everything was starting to make a bit of sense, as long as I was willing the bend reality just a tad and believe that ghosts exist. Oh, I forgot to say something: thanks for spending my entire childhood lying to me. "Ghosts don't exist." Yeah, right. How about witches? I always thought that Aunt Nancy's wart meant something… _

_But then we had to go see that stupid movie tonight. That's why I'm freaked, Mom, if you really want to know. "I see dead people." What kind of crap is that? I mean, is this whole being able to see and talk to a ghost something that is normal? What if it happens to me? I can handle Jack – there's not outward sign as to how he died to remind me that he really is dead, that he really did kill himself. No bullet hole in the back of his head, no slashes on his wrists, no noose around his neck. Fine. But what if I start to _really _start to see dead people? I'm scared no, Mom, and it wasn't just because of some stupid thriller movie. _

_Seriously, though, if I was that Cole kid, I would have offed myself if I had to deal with the same crap that he went through. At least Jack doesn't scare me. Shoot, I don't think that Jack Kelly could ever purposely scare anyone, even as a ghost. _

_And _that_, Mom, is why I can't tell you what is bothering me. Either you would have me committed for believing that I see a late 19th century ghost boy or you would have me in therapy for the rest of my life for being suicidal. No thanks… _

Now, if only she could explain that all to her mother. Instead, her shoulders sagged and her head dropped. "Do you really want to know what it is, Mom, that's bothering me?"

"Of course I do, baby. I'm your mother. I want you to confide in me whenever you need someone. I love you." Arianrhod leaned over and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Even though she was turning eighteen in July, Diana was still her little girl.

Diana felt much safer in her mother's embrace. It was only when she felt the warmth and security of her arms that she could think more clearly. _I'll be okay. As far as I know, Aunt Ria never saw anyone but Jack when she was in my situation. And I can handle Jack. _Diana snuggled against Arianrhod. "It's not really that big of a deal," she mumbled into her mother's sweater. She was, however, smiling now. She did not feel _so_ scared anymore – alright, scared but not terrified.

Her mother lowered her arms and, with a chuckle, pulled away slightly from Diana. "I'm sorry, Di, honey. What was that?"

Diana sat up straight, Bambi resting in her lap. Her smile flattened and she felt suddenly cold. She was already missing the sanctuary of her mother's hug. "I said it really wasn't a big deal." She was not nearly as worried or frightened as she had been following the close of the "Sixth Sense" – though that was one unexpected ending! – but that did not mean that she had not retained any of her nerves. Diana knew that she would probably spend the next two months looking over her shoulder. Just in case.

"Well, I'm the mother. I am much older and wiser than you are. Why don't you tell me and let me decide. Hmm?"

Diana could tell that her mother was not going to drop the subject until she had admitted what it was that had rattled her. She sighed loudly, trying to sound like she was giving in. "Alright, I'll tell you. Just promise not to laugh, first."

Arianrhod made a cross over her heart. "Promise."

"The movie scared the hell out of me. The idea of dead people walking around and talking to a little boy about their deaths freaks me out," Diana confessed. _Hey, at least it's partly true… _

Despite her promise of only a few seconds ago, Arianrhod laughed. "Oh, baby, is that all? You really had me worried that it was something serious." She lifted her hand up and reached over to the top of Diana's head before ruffling her curls. "You don't need to worry about something like that, Di. There are no such things as ghosts."

_Shows what you know, Mom. 'Older and wiser', my butt. _She scowled and ducked her head out of her mother's reach. She hated it when her mother played with her hair. "Yeah, I know. You always say that there's no such thing as ghosts – you sound like you belong on Scooby Doo or something," she added, somewhat under her breath. She had been hearing the phrase 'there's no such thing as ghosts' all her life it seemed.

Arianrhod lifted her eyebrow. "What was that Diana?"

Diana shook her slightly. "What I meant to say was that, you know, just think about it, Mom. That dude Night or whatever Tony said his name was – he must have gotten the idea from somewhere, right? Maybe ghosts do exist. Just because you've never seen one doesn't mean that it's not possible."

Arianrhod Mason, as a rule, was laid-back and easygoing (if, at times, also a bit paranoid). She very really grew cross with her only child; it could be said that Dylan Mason was the disciplinarian in their family. However, just because she did not get angry often it did not mean that she did not get angry – it just took more to push her over the edge. And, when she really _did _get upset, it was a doozy; for that reason, Diana, long ago, learned to watch out for the warning signs: first her mother would go very tense and very quiet, then her mouth would go thin and, lastly, before she lost her temper entirely, she would give Diana one last chance to stop doing whatever it was that was bothering her.

Normally, Diana knew, it took quite a bit (and some time) to get her mother to exhibit the warning signs. But not that night. Diana had, unwittingly, pushed her mother over the edge with only a few sentences.

The quiet that followed her statement was quite eerie.

Arianrhod sat up rigidly on the bed, her mouth a thin line. When she spoke, she was speaking around clenched teeth. The jovial mood of a few moments ago was gone. "Diana. It is not possible to see a ghost if they do not exist and anyone who insists otherwise is in need of some serious help. Do I make myself clear?"

_Do I make myself clear… _ That was it – that was her mother giving her one more chance. Diana nodded, thoroughly confused by her mother's abrupt change in attitude. "Of course, Mom. It was just a theory. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Good." The woman relaxed considerably. "Now, is there anything else you need to tell me?"

Arianrhod's mouth return to its normal grinning fashion but Diana could not help but notice that her voice still sounded strained.

_There is no way I'll ever tell her about Jack now. My earlier fear that she'd have me committed was closer to the truth that I ever would have thought… _

"No, Mom. That was it."

Arianrhod nodded and pat the bed once before climbing out of it. "Alright then, honey. In that case, I'm going to go to sleep now. It was a long day for me," she said and Diana had to agree. It had been a really long day for her, too. "And I can only imagine what your aunt has in store for us tomorrow. Hopefully not another scary ghost movie, eh?"

She made her way across the bedroom. After resting her palm on top of the light switch, she glanced back at Diana. "Sleep well, Di. Just don't focus on that movie too much. It was only a movie. It's not true."

"Night, Mom," Diana said in reply. Maybe her mother would not sound so damn sure that the movie was fiction if she knew that it _was _possible to see a ghost boy. And, beside, she highly doubted that she would sleep well at all – she had had strange nightmares both nights that she had slept in this room. Add that to that scary movie she had just seen and her mother's off Jekyll and Hyde moment; Diana was aware that if she managed to fall asleep and actually sleep well, then that would be a miracle.

The only thing that she had to look forward to was that Sunday would be an entire Jack-free day – which, as she thought about it then, may not be as good as she initially thought. She had a _ton _of question that only he had the answer to ( she was sure that either her mother or aunt could answer the questions, too, but she was not about to ask them) ; she would not get any answers until Monday. And that made her antsy.

Arianrhod flipped the switch down, letting darkness fall over Diana's borrowed bedroom. "Good night, baby."


	30. XXX

Author's Note: _Well, you can not say that I did not deliver. I offered to answer any questions and I did just that. Though, Teepot, I must confess that the relationship between Stress and Diana was coming up soon. But, because you were curious, I answered that one first (and while they're not the same person, it's pretty close – and will have definite repercussions later on!). I also answered another question that I knew would come up sooner or later (why exactly Arianrhod does not like Jack). In fact, I basically got rid of a lot of the haziness by basically explaining the whole family line thing. I hope it is easy to follow and that it makes some sense with things that had been set up in earlier chapters. And look – it's Sunday, too! I figured, since I was hitting another milestone (thirty chapters, woot!), that I would try to get back on target with the deadline day. However, considering that it is now NaNoWriMo, I can't promise it will be like this for the next three weeks. As it is, I gave up this weekends update of LOST (gasp) to do this. And you know what? I really like this chapter, too. :) Enjoy! It's the longest chapter in the story so far, too…_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

November 4, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY

--

Despite her worries that she would not fall asleep at all that night, the events of the day took their toll on Diana. She was fast asleep not much longer after her mother had turned the light off and left her alone in the room.

--

Damn. _Diana knew at once that she had fallen into another weird sort of dream – and she was not happy about it at all. _Double damn.

_And it had to be a weird sort of dream, too, just like the one she had had of her aunt and her mother the night before. _Figures…

_Before she had gotten mixed up with a ghost boy and his curse, Diana's dreams had been normal: she might be chased by Santa Claus, brandishing a fire torch as he followed her into an underground lair, or, maybe, she would be climbing an mountain entirely made of frozen milk chips in the hopes that the Dairy Lama would be at the top, to explain just why milk tastes so good when it's cold. Regular people-type dreams._

_But floating in a white abyss, doing nothing but staring into nothingness? There was nothing else it could be but another Jack Kelly-related dream. It was too normal not to be._

_That was, until she heard the voice._

"_Diana. Diana Artemis Mason. You're finally here…"_

_Diana was not sure whether she should cringe at the mention of her middle name (it was tradition in her mother's family to name their child after a mythological character; she was lucky her father insisted that she be Diana Artemis instead of Artemis Diana like her mother wanted) or freak out at the voice; there was no one around her for that voice to be coming from. And, unless she was imagining it, it sounded like that voice was quite close to her._

_No. Not close to her. Inside of her._

_It was hard to tell when the glowing began. Everything around her was white, including her clothes. It was only when the bright light surrounding her chest extended to her arms that Diana could see that something was wrong with her. She did not feel any different prior to noticing the light but, once she saw it, her lungs constricted and her heart skipped a bit. She was terrified._

_She began brushing away at the blossoming light but it did not fade; it only grew larger. She began to whimper in fright. Despite being well aware that this was a dream – she probably would have been even more scared if she thought that this was really happening to her – she did not like looking down and not being able to see her feet due to the brightness of whatever it was that was emanating from her chest._

_Then there was a flash, so intense that it blinded her entirely for a few seconds. As soon as she was able to actually see again, Diana saw that she no longer alone. Right beside her, floating beside her, was a girl._

_This girl appeared to be about her age, seventeen or so. Like Diana, she had curly brown hair, though this girls was much longer and wilder than Diana's; it extended to the middle of her back and looked like it had not been thoroughly brushed in quite some time. Her face was structured similarly to Diana but they were not exact doubles. She was, however, wearing the same white robe as Diana, and looked just as confused – until she came face to face with a gaping Diana. _

_She nodded. "Diana. Hello."_

_Whoever this person was, wherever this person had came from – Diana had the sick sensation that she knew but she refused to look down at her chest for fear of the hole she might find – she was the voice that Diana had heard. Diana squinted and there was a moment of confusion before recognition dawned upon her. She had seen this girl before, both in a vision and in a photograph – this was Stress._

"_Umm… hi._ _I guess. Stress, right?" _Please say no… Please say no… _Even if it was a dream, Diana was not sure she wanted anything to do with the dead girl. Unless she could tell her about her murder, of course, but Diana knew that it could not be that easy._

"_In a way," the girl answered vaguely. "I was. Once. But not any more."_

Okay… "_Well, I'm going to call you Stress because, otherwise, I'm gonna be too weirded out. What's up?" _

_Stress sighed. She lifted both of her arms up in a sweeping motion. However, with the gesture, Diana could make out two thick lines of blood staining Stress's white robe. _Is that how she died?, _Diana wondered, openly staring at the morbid way the shiny crimson stains stood out to her._

_The girl did not make any reference to the blood or the way that Diana was gawking at it. Instead, she smiled a crooked smile. "I've been waiting for you, Diana. You were supposed to help me come full circle the anniversary of your sixteenth year. But you've been late. We have much to do and very little time in which to do it."_

Huh? What? _Diana shook her head. "I don't get it. What do you mean? Six—"_

_Stress brought a finger to her lips. "Shh…" she said, interrupting Diana. "Listen. We don't have much time. I shouldn't have even escaped from inside you but—"_

_It was Diana's turn to cut her off. "Inside me? What the hell does that mean?"_

"_Inside you._ _Just like it sounds. My soul is partially intertwined with yours. I am _part _of you. Haven't you figured that out yet, Diana?"_

"_Uh, no?"_ Oh my God, is that what that light was? Was she freaking climbing out of my body? What is going on here? _Diana wrapped her arms around herself but, whether it was to hide her center from the girl or to prevent her from climbing back in (if that's what she meant by 'part of you', of course), she was not sure. All she knew was that she was not about to glance down at her own robe now. What would she do if it was just as bloody? _

"_Listen, Stress, you just said something about sixteen, right? Jack said something about being two years late – whatever that means. So, yeah, I'm kind of new to all this weird stuff. I only found out about ghosts on Thursday. I have no freaking idea as to what is going on."_

_Stress had smiled (wistfully almost) at the mention of Jack but she did not comment on him. Instead she shook her head. "And I'm sorry for that, Diana. You were supposed to be eased into this when he became able to speak with you. That happens on your sixteenth birthday but you must meet him at the building. It's part of the curse. You never came to Duane Street. You missed two years of your destiny. There is not much time left now. We have to do this. I'm going to help you as best I can – if not for me and Jack, but for you."_

"_Shoot. You want to help me? Here, I'll look past that creepy 'I'm a part of you' thing if you just tell me who killed you. Isn't that what this is all about, huh? Jack needs to learn why you died. You tell me, I'll tell him and we're all off the hook. Is that why you're here? And what about me? This isn't my mess."_

"_If only it was that simple. But it's not. Like it or not, Diana, you _are _involved. Involved more than even you know. And it's not just because I'm part of you – and I am. A bit of me has been passed down in every one of you girls, starting with Rhiannon Daite. It was a curse. It affected me and Jack as much as it affected your family. But the stakes are much higher now. Time is short."_

_Diana snorted, not liking much of what Stress was saying. This spirit of the dead girl was sounding more like a riddle than anything else. _Some help. "_Yeah, two months._ _I know. As if I could forget."_

"_No. Not two months. Less than that."_

_Diana started, her mouth opening in surprise. She realized how odd she must look and shook her head. Maybe she misunderstood what Stress had said. "Excuse me, what? How?"_

"_I can't tell you. I can't tell you much of anything Diana because I don't know it all. I don't know why time is slipping away from us all. And I… I don't know how I died. I don't know by whose hand or why. I just know that I have to save Jack… I have to save you." Stress looked so genuine and so sad that it made Diana feel guilty for acting so rude to her. But she could not help it. How do you treat a ghost who (for all you know) climbed out of your chest?_

"_Alright._ _You don't know who killed you. But what do you know?"_

"_Not much, I'm afraid. That was part of my curse. I spent one whole year in Purgatory, you see. I had unfinished business and I could not pass until I finished it but, before I could take care of it, Jack made a deal with the devil. His Devil's Curse. Ever since then, I was thrust inside of a body, hidden inside, immobile. I could not help him because it was against the rules and, after all this time of silence, I forgot much of my own history._

"_I started out as only a sliver of me within Rhiannon Daite. I did not even know that I was Jessa 'Stress' Rhian. That I was once a mortal girl who had been born in October of 1882. That I had been in love with Jack Kelly. None of it. At least, not until the day that Rhiannon turned sixteen and a bit of me awoke. I used the bit of spirit I had to get a message to Alfred Kloppman, a man I had known when I was alive. He could get in touch with Jack since I was forbidden to by the Devil himself. He prepared Jack to meet Rhiannon. I led the girl to Duane Street that day. The rest was taken care of by Jack._

"_I was not strong enough in Rhiannon to do anything but lead her to Jack and try to use her to tell him how sorry I was. I hoped that the girl was smart enough to solve everything with the resources at hand. She knew many of the people I knew – the Jacobs' family, Honor Williams, Spot Conlon… Maybe one of them could enlighten her to the mystery of my murder. But she didn't do it. She married Les Jacobs, though, and had his child in 1927. _

"_The moment that Étaín Jacobs was born, I was within her soul. I was a bit stronger. I could put ideas into her mind: images of my own past and echoes of my own emotions. Never enough, though, to convince her that something was wrong with her. Rhiannon, being the first, was more responsive to me – she often told Les that she felt like two people. Étaín ignored the feelings._

"_She failed as well and, in 1955, the twins were born. I don't think anyone was expecting that. It must have been the work of the Devil, I think. I got split between them both. One part of me resided in your mother, another in her twin. As Arianrhod was the older of the twins, she got my intellect, my reason – as limited as it was. Ariadne, on the other hand, got purely my emotions. Sometimes I wonder if that was what made her fall in love with Jack…"_

_Stress paused right there and Diana was jerked out of a reverie. When the girl had begun telling her the story, Diana had become entranced. Even if she was dreaming, Stress was answering more questions in the span of such little time than Jack had in three days. But, when she heard that last sentence, she turned her head sharply towards Stress. "What? Aunt Ria… she loved Jack?"_

_Stress must have picked that point to pause in her narrative purposely; she must have known that Diana would want to question that fact. "Yes. It's hard to explain – I was so torn during those years – but the feelings were there. Whether they were mine or hers, I'll never know but nothing came of it. Jack ignored her advances and they went about their work with Arianrhod trying her best to help, even though she did not believe. But, like the other two women before them, they could not do it. And then, in 1981, your mother had you. _

"_I was whole again and, to my surprise, nearly complete. I could not wait until you turned sixteen because I felt that we had a good chance to beat the curse this time. There was a snag, though. From what I gather, your aunt turned bitter when the part of me that lived within her fled. She did not remember the good feelings she had had towards Jack. All she remembered was the life she had given up to devote ten years to helping him. She despises him now, you know…"_

Yeah, I know. "_So, was that you putting weird ideas in my head? I thought I was going crazy."_

_Stress chuckled lowly. It was a nice change to see her looking less than somber. "Yes. I was testing how far I could go. But, I must tell you, this is the extent of my spirit. It took me three nights to gather enough energy to contact you tonight." It was not just her chuckles that were low; Stress's voice was beginning to fade. She seemed to notice it; her green eyes widened and the somber and serious expression was back._

"_I'll leave you with as many hints as I can give you, Diana," Stress said, her voice already growing thin and hard to hear. "My time is short and I am already growing weak from expanding so much energy to reach out from inside of you in order to speak with you. But I had to share that with you. Jack does not understand much of it and, in order for you to succeed, you need to know. I think that that is where the other girls have failed."_

_Diana, while still floating in this dream-like state, sensed the urgency behind her comment and tried her hardest to understand what she was saying. Whether this was a dream or something else entirely, Diana was not taking any chances. If this girl, or ghost, or whatever Stress was,_ _was going to give her some clues, she would take them. "Yes?" Her voice sounded as hazy. The dream must be almost over._

"_Trust your instincts. I am helping you more than you know, so listen to yourself. Listen to Jack and help him, please. He's going to need it. Four is not what she seems. You can trust her. Do not be afraid. Watch out for Tony. I wish I could tell you more about him but I can't. You're going to have to figure that out on your own. And Kloppman… he's a friend. He wants to help. He wants to help more than I can tell you. But don't question him. It's not fair to him. Also… "_

_That was it. Diana could not make anything else. There was another flash; her arms were pushed to her side with a great force._

_The voice had faded away to nothingness; she could no longer see her near-double floating anywhere near her. She was alone._

_Alone and greatly confused…_

--

Diana woke up with a start. Her heart was beating fast, her breathing was heavy. That had been too creepy for her.

Her first instinct was to lift her arms up and poke at her chest, just to make sure that it was there – and not a gigantic hole. Once she was satisfied that she was not a piece of Swiss cheese, Diana turned her thoughts to the dream that had just ended.

_What was that about?_

She could still hear the voice of that girl, whispering in her ears. But what was it that she was saying?

Diana did not know. Or, rather, she did know – it was just hard to accept it as fact. Well, maybe not as hard as it should be but she _had _just woken up out of one doozy of a dream.

According to that girl, Jack's Stress, she was almost entirely part of Diana, residing deep within her soul. She would do her best to help Diana help Jack and then, when the deadline came up that first week in August, she would finally be able to move on. She would not have to be reborn into another soul; she could finally rest in peace.

_But what about me?_ _What happens to me, then? What will happen if me and Jack, God forbid, _don't _figure this whole mess out. There's nowhere else for her to go if we fail. Does my soul, intertwined with hers, go to Hell, too? After all, it has been nearly a century and nobody else has gotten it yet. Shoot, even she doesn't know who did it – and she was the one who got killed._

Strangely, Diana did not have a hard time believing what the girl had said; if she could believe in ghosts so easily, why not believe that rebirth and reincarnation were possible. And, so what if she was visited in a dream? It was no the first time since she found out that her summer would revolve around solving a century old murder mystery.

There was only one thing that bothered her – and it had nothing to do with any of the supernatural she had been dealing with. Jack had made quite a few mentions that she was late, that she should have been to see him two years ago. Stress told her that she should have been there to help Jack upon Diana's sixteenth birthday.

But she had not. Instead, she had remained in New Jersey, blissfully unaware of her family's role in a ghost story. In fact, if it was not for incessant nagging that she be allowed to visit her aunt in New York before she started college, Diana doubted that she would have ever known about Jack Kelly and Stress Rhian.

_Is that a good thing or a bad thing? _She was not too sure. At least, the Diana-part of her was not too sure. The Stress-part of her would probably have kicked her for thinking like that.

It did not take too long for her to get her breathing (and her heart rate) back under control. Diana was wondering if these last three days in New York, surrounded by all these strange occurrences, was beginning to further harden her. Here she was, trying to help one ghost to solve the mystery of another's murder – and she had no problem believing any of it. She was even strangely comfortable with knowing that the dead girl's soul was part of her.

There was only one thing she could do – go back to sleep. There was nothing she could do now; she would have to wait until late tomorrow, at the earliest, to get some answers to her (infinitely larger) collection of questions. She just hoped Jack would be in a sharing mood the next time she saw him.

This time, though, when she fell back asleep, she slept soundly. No dreams, no nightmares, no visions plagued her. It was a well-needed rest; it gave her psyche time to recover from everything she had learned, everything she had seen in the past three days. It gave her time to prepare for the events that were to come within the next few weeks.

--

While Diana was just beginning to fall asleep and get lost inside her own dreams, Alfred Kloppman (who was not sleeping as was previously assumed by all of the women in the apartment) was anxiously pacing back and forth within his room. He had spent much of his night off wondering just what Jack Kelly was up to. It was not like him to give up so easily. He had been certain that, if Miss Mason had told the ghost boy that she was going out with her mother and her aunt and, therefore, would not be able to spend the evening with him, Jack would have followed her. If not to spend the evening annoying her by asking if she was ready to help him again, but also to catch a glimpse of Roddy Mason.

But it did not seem as if that was the case. Kloppman had not felt Jack's presence within the penthouse the entire time that Diana and the twins were getting ready; nor had he felt him when the women returned back to the apartment only three hours after they had left.

Kloppman, growing all the more paranoid as the deadline loomed ever closer, was afraid that Jack might have accompanied the women on their outing only to disappear back to his cove when they returned to Duane Street. He was afraid that, in his desire to solve the mystery, Jack might get anxious and hasty. Kloppman had spent too many years carefully guarding the secrets. He was not about to let an impulsive Cowboy ruin everything with only two months left.

As soon as the women left, Kloppman tried to call Jack to him. He knew that Jack could hear him no matter where he was (another one of the perks of being in this whole mess together); it was just a matter of if he would actually respond to Kloppman's calls.

He did not.

Kloppman did not give up on trying, though. And it was not just because of his own insecurities that he would be found out. He wanted to talk to the boy about what he had seen in Diana's room.

There was no denying that all of the Daite girls, with their curls and their fair coloring, shared remarkable resemblances among each other. Ariadne and Arianrhod, being twins, were identical; Diana was almost unmistakable from her great-grandmother, Rhiannon.

There was also no denying that all five of them shared both outward and inward characteristics with the dead Stress. It became one of those things that Kloppman and Jack ignored and failed to discuss amongst themselves; the resemblances they could find usually upset Jack too much and, in turn, caused Kloppman unnecessary distress.

But, this time, Kloppman could not keep this to himself. Maybe it was because it had been almost one hundred years since he failed to save her life and he was having a hard time recalling her features (not likely, considering her ashen white face of death, haunted his very nightmares), but he had almost mistaken Diana Mason for Stress. And it was not just minor similarities that caused him to question what he had seen just moments before the girl had woken up; he could have almost sworn that it was the murdered orphan who lay sleeping in that bed.

_I have to tell Jack. This might mean something. It's just a pity that he's not answering me. Probably sulking, if I know the boy…_

Kloppman pushed his glasses up his nose and turned his gaze upward, prepared to try again. This was the fifth attempt, now, where he was trying to invoke Jack. He had not had any luck with the four previous calls; maybe this fifth time would be the charm. "Jack. I know you can hear me. Stop acting like you're three years old. You've already seen a hundred years, boy, and you're being very rude by ignoring me."

He paused. There was still nothing. It was as if he was talking to himself. Which, in a way, he was – he could only imagine what any of the women would think if they heard him

"Alright, fine. You ignore me. Just don't come crying back here when you need me later on."

If he thought that a threat would work, he was wrong. Jack still refused to either answer his call or appear within the room. Kloppman sighed. He could not understand it – even if the reason that the boy was not answering him earlier in the evening was because he _had _followed Diana and her family out, it made no sense that he would ignore him now. The women had returned about an hour ago. And, yet, Jack still refused to come.

_I'll have to wait until he comes around. I just wonder what is keeping him. He's never refused a call from me before…_


	31. XXXI

Author's Note: _And here is the next chapter. Can you believe that it has been about five chapters since the last time Jack made an appearance in this story? I actually was not expecting to bring him back until Monday but then I thought that it might be nice to check up on him. He's right where we left him, moping about (not that he doesn't have anything to mope about, of course). Anywho, I promise that the day's even will not last anywhere as long as Saturday. Sunday will only be about two or three chapters before we get back to Monday. The only reason that the first three days took so long was getting all the history and plot and stuff out there. Now that we know much of it, the story will flow a lot faster now. About time, eh? Enjoy!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

November 12, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY ONE

--

It had been hours, Jack knew, since the last time he had picked up the damn black book; hours since he punished himself by re-reading those same condemning words. He was tired, both spiritually and mentally, and could not even bring himself to sit up in the bed. Like he had been ever since he stopped hovering, Jack laid flat on his back, not moving, not thinking, not doing anything. He had just given up on everything.

Four, too, it seemed, had given up. Instead of trying to force him into paying attention to her, the cat had curled up beside him. She had been sleeping for hours, the soft and subtle sound of her content purring the only noise Jack could make out in the small room.

That is, until he heard the voice of Alfred Kloppman. _Again._

He did not actually _hear _the voice, though; at least, not with his ears. The bond that Jack and Kloppman had, the bond that they had shared ever since the old man had unwittingly tied himself to Jack's curse, was an internal bond. Whenever Kloppman wanted to see him, all he had to do was call to him and Jack felt a pull. It was, however, up to the ghost boy whether or not he wanted to answer the pull and transport over to Duane Street to see Kloppman but, in the ninety-nine years that they had been tied together, Jack had never resisted Kloppman's call.

He did that night. Repeatedly. He could not face Kloppman. How could he explain that, after years of searching for her murderer, and years of wondering what it was that Les had locked away in his stupid box, it all came down to finger-pointing – and that the grubby finger of a man (a man he had considered a friend) long dead was pointing at him, marking him as the murderer.

The ability to send a signal out to Jack that he was wanted by Kloppman was not the only ability that Kloppman had; he was also able to speak to the ghost without being in his presence. When Jack did not respond to the first call, the first of many, the man had tried to speak to him. Though he knew that Kloppman preferred to speak out loud when he was trying to contact him, Jack only heard the sound of his voice from deep within his head. It always sounded hollow as if the voice was bouncing around his skull; Jack hated it when Kloppman spoke to him like that.

Kloppman, of course, knew that it annoyed Jack when he tried to speak to him through using their bond. Jack could only assume that whatever the old man thought he had to say was important and that he was going to say it whether or not Jack came to him.

But, despite the strange way the voice came to him, Jack purposely tuned it out the first four times that Kloppman tried to speak with him, tried to call to him. He heard snippets of the one-sided conversation – Kloppman, he could tell from the bits he listened to, believed that he had followed Diana and her family and was trying to talk him out of it – but, for the most part, blocked it out until Kloppman finally got the hint and left him alone.

At least Jack thought that Kloppman had finally dropped it and left him alone. It was just then, after hours of solitude and hours of self-pitying, that Jack felt the brief pull of Kloppman's call before the raspy, echo-y voice of Kloppman began again. He still did not move; instead, he wondered what more the man had to say to him. Nothing he had said had worked so far – he could not have much more, could he?

"Jack." _What? Can't you tell that I'm moping and don't want to be bothered, Kloppy. It's not like I haven't ignored you all night long or anything._

"I know you can hear me." _Aren't you a smart one? I had no idea._

"Stop acting like you're three years old." _Well we can't all be one hundred and seventy five now, can we?_

"You've already seen a hundred years, boy, and you're being very rude by ignoring me." _Oh, you had to go and bring up the hundred years. Thanks, Kloppy. And I'm being rude? Stop interrupting me when I'm feeling so lousy._

The voice stopped and Jack scoffed – it was a mild scoff, considering that he was still not expending any energy. If it was up to him, he would stay on that bed until the Devil himself came looking for him. If only he could do that and not condemn Kloppman and the girl to Hell, too; since that was not an option, he was going to make do in pouting until he was able to get Diana's help to figure out who the _real _murderer was.

"Alright, fine." _Oh, great. You're still here, Kloppy? Leave me alone, already._

"You ignore me." _Will do. I'm glad you finally caught on._

"Just don't come crying back here when you need me later on." _Threaten me all you want, old man. You're as mixed up in the mess as I am. What are you going to do if you don't help me, hmm? Willingly go to Hell just because I ignored you one night?_

_Yeah… I doubt it..._

And, with that, Jack went back to his moping. If he wanted to feel bad, he could pick up that black book of Les Jacobs' and re-read those accusing words again for the umpteenth time. He did not need one of his only allies turning on him so late in the game.

--

_Knock, knock._

"Diana? Are you awake in there?"

The girl, sleeping face down, her head hidden within the folds of her pillow, might have said something in response to Ariadne's call but, if whatever she had said was coherent, it only came out as muffled grunts.

Ariadne knocked a little bit harder.

"Diana, dear? Come on now. It's time to get up."

This time Diana stirred, beginning to wake up. She moved her head, resting her cheek against the pillow so that she could open her left eye. She shut it right away; it was bright in her room and the sunlight nearly blinded her.

"What is it?" she croaked out, not wanting to fully wake up. It was so nice to be able to sleep soundly without the hint of a vision or a dream. She wanted to enjoy it for as long as she could.

Ariadne knocked even harder. The sound of her knuckles rapping incessantly against the wooden door robbed Diana of the rest of her sleep. It did not matter if she wanted to continue to rest – her aunt was going to stay outside that door, knocking, until she got up.

Diana removed one of the pillows from underneath her head and used it cover her ears. "I'm up, I swear. Just stop the banging, Aunt Ria."

Though the pillow muffled her reply again, Ariadne must have heard her; at the very least, she stopped knocking. "Alright, Diana, but I just wanted to let you know that it's already almost noon," she said, calling through the door. "Your mother and I let you sleep in while we went out for coffee but now she's ready to go out. She told me to tell you to hurry up and shower. She's taking the seven o'clock train back to Jersey tonight so we don't have that much time."

"Okay, Aunt Ria," Diana replied, using her left hand to toss the pillow to the side of the bed. "Tell Mom I'll be out in a bit. I'll go take my shower now."

"Good." Even though she could not see her aunt, Diana could tell that she was wearing a satisfied expression. She could almost hear it in her voice. "We'll be waiting in the den for you when you're ready."

Diana made a rather rude gesture at the closed door as she lazily sat up in the bed. It was all well for her aunt to sound wide awake; she had already had coffee that morning.

She yawned and stretched her arms out. Something seemed to be wrong with her right arm; it felt stiff and heavy as if she had slept on it. She glanced down on it and was surprised to see that there was a square bit of paper sticking to her upper arm. _What is that?_

With her left hand, Diana reached out and peeled whatever it was off of her arm. Cautiously, given her newfound apprehension regarding photographs – What else could the square piece of paper be? It was white on one side and sticky on the other just like a photograph and, besides, it seemed like photographs were an important part of her life for now – Diana cast her eyes on it. She was right: it was a photograph, that old photograph of Rhiannon Daite-Jacobs and her husband that Jack had left behind.

Careful to keep her mind blank as she handled the picture – she could not afford to fall into a vision with her mother and her aunt waiting for her – Diana wondered what she should do with it. The last time she had fallen into this particular photo, she had been trying to find out how Jack, Rhiannon and Kloppman knew each other.

Even though she had not remained in the vision long enough to learn that (and, of course, it did not matter now that Stress had explained how they all found each other in last night's dream), she had met Les Jacobs and witnessed an interesting exchange between Jack Kelly and whatever Kloppman it was that was around back then. And she had learned all that from one picture that featured Rhiannon and Les. What else could she learn from this picture? She was not sure but it would not hurt to look again when she had the time – but she might not be able to do that if she returned the picture to its proper owner.

"You know," Diana said, speaking out loud to herself as she shook the photograph, slapping it against her open palm. "Technically, this ain't really Jack's picture. I don't know how he got it, since he's dead and all, but I think it really belongs to me. I mean," she continued as she shrugged her shoulders, "it _is_ a picture of my great grandmother and my great grandfather. If anything, it should belong to my family."

She paused and stopped shaking the picture. She glanced at it once, still a bit taken aback at the eerie resemblance between her and Rhiannon, and nodded. "Yeah, you definitely talked me into this too, Diana. I just don't know how you do it," she said, her lips curling in a wry grin. "Now where should I put this for safe keeping?" _And so that Jack doesn't find it when he comes back…_

Diana shimmied out of the thick pink comforter and scooted out of the bed, still cradling the picture in her hand. She walked over to the side table beside the bed and set the picture down on top of it. Then she reached for the 'Fate' box and, using her thumb, she flipped up the faded brass clasp.

She was greeted with the faint musty smell of the open box; she wrinkled her nose as she reached inside the box and removed the blank black book that was resting inside of it. She flipped the book open – it was still as blank as it had been when she saw it the morning before – and slipped the picture inside of it. Then, proud of herself for coming up with such a clever hiding place, she placed the book back inside and shut the lid. If her aunt had been right when she said that no one could open the box but her, then no one would be able to go inside and see that she stole – or reclaimed, depending on how you looked at it – the old picture of the Jacobs.

Quite absently, Diana straightened the box so that was parallel with the edge of the small table. She picked up her cell phone, sitting just off to the side of the box, and glanced at the time; it was 12:03. Her aunt had not been kidding when she said that they had let Diana sleep in. She had not been able to laze about ever since her summer vacation had started; it was nice not to have to wake up so early. She doubted she would have the same luxury on Monday. If she knew Jack, he would be there bright and early the next day to bug her again.

Diana sighed and set the phone back down. It had already been a good ten minutes since Ariadne had told her to get up. If she did not hurry up and go get in the shower, she would have her mother to answer to.

And, besides, it would be nice to take a long shower without having to worry about Jack spying on her. After everything that had happened the day before, Diana doubted that she would ever feel private in a shower again. Since she was (pretty) sure that Jack would not return to the penthouse until her mother went back to New Jersey, it left Diana with one day to take advantage of his absence.

It might upset and annoy her mother and her aunt, but Diana was going to take as long of a shower as she could get away with.

--

After knocking on Diana's bedroom door and waking her up, Ariadne returned to the kitchen. She had left her sister in there when she went to wake her niece up; when she walked back into the room, she wondered if it had been that smart of an idea.

Despite just having returned from their breakfast at a local café, Arianrhod had taken it upon herself to rummage through Ariadne's cupboard in search of only God knows what. Of the six white cabinets in the kitchen, four of them were flung wide open; however, the only things that her sister had removed from them were two ceramic mugs, a plastic container full of sugar and a bag of Kona coffee grounds. There was a pot of water boiling on the stove as well as the quart of two percent milk – her specifically coffee milk, as Roddy seemed to have figured out – sitting out on a second counter.

Arianrhod's back was to her sister as Ariadne walked back into the kitchen but, because of the telltale clacking sound of Ria's heeled shoes against the kitchen tiles, she heard her enter and turned around. "Is Diana up?"

"Wha—yeah. She's up," Ariadne said before pointing at the mess that Arianrhod was currently making. "And what, may I ask, are you doing? We just had breakfast _and _coffee, Roddy."

Arianrhod wagged her finger at Ariadne. "Ah, yes. We had _cheap _coffee. I did not know that you were holding out on me, sister dear," she said, picking up the Kona coffee bag and shaking it in front of her sister's face.

"Since when do you like Kona, Roddy?"

"Since I know how expensive it is, Ria." She laughed. "Come on. The water is boiling and, if I know my daughter, we have quite some time before she's ready to go out. I'll pour you a cup of coffee and we can talk some more, alright?"

There was something about her sister's tone of voice that unnerved Ariadne. Arianrhod had something she wanted to say – she was using the coffee as an excuse. She nodded. "Alright," she agreed.

"Good. A spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk, right?"

"That's fine," Ariadne said, trying not to roll her eyes. She knew that that was how Arianrhod took her coffee and how she expected everyone to drink their's. Even though she had specifically ordered her coffee black at the café, her sister insisted on preparing both mugs in the same way – and she was not about to argue with her.

Arianrhod fixed the two mugs of coffee as quickly as she could. She scooped an equal amount of coffee grounds into each mug and added boiling water to each. Then came a splash of milk into both and one heaping spoonful of sugar. She stuck a silver spoon into each mug (to use as a stirrer) before handing Ariadne her mug. "The den or the kitchen?"

"Let's go in the den. I usually have my coffee in there."

Ariadne led the way, mildly aware of the mess her sister had left in the kitchen. She made a mental note to tidy it up before they left; she did not want to leave such a mess there for Alfred. If she knew the butler, he would feel as if he needed to clean it up even though she tried to leave Saturdays and Sundays for him as a reward for a week's worth of hard work. He was getting on in years and she did not like to push him too hard.

Both women silently took a seat upon the leather sofa, the only sound coming from the clinking of the silverware against the ceramic. Ariadne was sitting tensely on the edge of the sofa, waiting for Arianrhod to say whatever it was that she had to say; Arianrhod was relaxing into the seat, calmly waiting for her coffee to cool.

Finally, when she could not stand it any further, Ariadne sat her coffee mug down on the glass coffee table and folded her hands on her lap. "Alright, Roddy. Out with it. What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

Arianrhod raised an eyebrow and adopted a innocent expression. "Why do you say that?"

All Ariadne had to do was blink pointedly at her sister and Arianrhod's innocent façade shattered. She laughed. "Okay, you got me. I was wondering just exactly what I was doing here." Ariadne began to speak but Arianrhod help up the hand holding her spoon. "Give me a second, Ria. I don't think you give me enough credit. I know we haven't seen each other in awhile but I _am _your twin. I know that something's up and I think it has to do with my daughter. You sounded so strained when you invited me here for the weekend. What is it? Is Diana in trouble?"

_Roddy's right. I _didn't _give her enough credit. I thought that she did not pick up on any ulterior motives but it looked like she did. But how do I explain that I asked her here so that, with her here, Diana would not be able to collaborate with that damn ghost. That I thought that, in the time she was here, I would come up with a valid excuse to keep Diana out of trouble – trouble that Roddy would not believe given that she does not remember Jack Kelly at all._

She shook her head and tried to bring a smile to her face. She was sure it appeared as if she forced it but what else could she do? "Not at all, Rod. Diana's wonderful, I promise. It's just, I don't know, I thought it would be nice for her if you were here with us this weekend. I mean, it _has _been two years since I saw her last and then I wasn't here for her during her first few days. I was afraid it might be awkward to spend the time together but, with you here, we might transition better. If she is going to spend the rest of the summer with me, I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot."

She paused and picked up her mug. Fully aware that her sister's green eyes were on her, trying to discern whether or not she was telling in the truth, Ariadne lifted the mug to her lips and took a great sip before continuing; the coffee had finally cooled. "Though, after last night, and the way she didn't take too well to Tony, I'm not too sure she's going to want to hang out with her old aunt anymore."

Arianrhod nodded then and, seeing Ariadne drink her coffee, she took a drink off of her own. "I wasn't going to say anything about that but, now that you mentioned it, what's up with you and Tony? Seemed a little cozy for 'just friends', I'd say."

As she tried to fight a rising blush, Ariadne wondered if, maybe, it would have been better to let her sister continue asking her about her motives behind inviting her to the City.


	32. XXXII

Author's Note: _And here is the next chapter. I have nothing really to say anymore. If you like the story, read it. If you want to tell me what you think, tell me. I'm not going to beg for reviews, it's getting old. I like the story and I just hope that, if you have read any of these last few 32 chapters, you like it too. Otherwise, why have you spent so much time reading this thing ;) Anywho, just to give you an idea of length, aMdD is officially longer than the second HP book (some 80K words). Just thought that was interesting. This is getting novel-length. Woot!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

November 26, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY TWO

--

The hot water did not last as long as Diana would have liked. She was out of the shower, half dressed with her hair wrapped up turban-styled in one of her aunt's fluffy towels, before she knew it. Careful not to repeat the same mistake of the morning before, when she had been in such a hurry to get dressed that she neglected to put on her bra and she let her sopping wet hair drench her clothing, she had twisted her hair up and out of her face before she pulled on her underwear and jeans.

Diana paused for a moment before she reached for the pink polo shirt she planned on wearing. Though the heat from her shower had fogged up the bathroom mirror, enough time had passed that a sliver of the reflective glass had cleared. Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out part of her reflection, distorted and fuzzy as it was.

There was something about what she saw in that quick glance that caused her to move her hand past her shirt and reach for a second towel instead. Partially entranced, Diana's hands, seemingly working of their own accord, used that towel to wipe at the mirror, drying it so that the rest of her reflection was perfectly revealed.

Her green eyes locked on those of her mirror twin. Without breaking the gaze, Diana's right hand, her opposite's left, lifted and removed the towel that kept her hair hidden.

Damp and clumpy dark coils fell down her shoulders. Slowly, still focused solely on the girl in the mirror, Diana ran her fingers loosely through her hair, opening up the curls and causing the water-dark curls to lighten underneath the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom.

_There… _

She saw it. There was just something about her reflection, something about the way her plump lips were set, or the way her hair hung down her shoulders, but it was there. She had never noticed it before but there was definitely something different about her. There was an air of maturity about her as if she had seen more than she should have see in her near eighteen years.

Diana's reflection seemed, in a way, to not be her reflection at all but, instead, the reflection of the dead girl. It was as if she was looking into the glass and Stress was looking back – instead of being a part of her, as the strange dream implied, she was safely tucked away behind the mirror.

She stared at the reflection, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Diana knew that she had probably looked into a mirror more than a million times but it was now, only after that dream, that she was reading meaning into her image. But, regardless of the innate silliness she felt for doing just that, she stared.

She stared as the glass opened up, reflecting much more of the bathroom. The more she could see of the 1999 world around her – the less the focus was on solely her reflection – the faster she lost that sensation. Before long, she was nothing but a New Jersey teenager, dripping half-naked in a bathroom, imagining things.

Diana chuckled, feeling self-conscious. _It was just a dream_, she told herself as she tore her eyes away from her reflection and reached for her shirt. Trying not to return her gaze to the glass, Diana pulled the pink polo on over her head, placed the towel in the sink and picked her dirty laundry up off of the floor. Without a second look, she left the bathroom in favor of finishing getting ready in her bedroom.

However, if she would have even peeked back at the mirror, she would have seen that the mirror twin's eyes – a golden color quite unlike Diana's but very similar to those of Stress – never left Diana until she was gone. Only then did the image fade.

--

There was an awkwardness to the air when Diana finally finished getting ready for the day, ate the bagel that someone had placed on her bed, and met her mother and her aunt in the den. The two women were sitting together, sharing the sofa, but only one of them seemed like she was enjoying the other's companion. Arianrhod had a genuine grin splayed out across her face; her twin was less than amused, her cheeks faintly dusted with pink. She was blushing, a grown woman blushing.

Diana thought that was interesting and was just about to comment on it when Ariadne rose from the sofa. "Diana, dear. Are you ready to head on out?"

"Yes, Aunt Ria. Thanks for breakfast."

"It was nothing, Diana."

"Of course not," added Arianrhod as she followed her sister off of the sofa. "Your aunt needed an excuse to get out of here and ignore the rest of my questions so she decided to make you something to eat."

"Well, your daughter didn't get anything to eat last night and you wanted to head out. How fair is that to Diana that we went to the café this morning without her and expect her to go hungry?"

Arianrhod laughed. "Oh, come off it, Ria. You know I would never let my baby go hungry. Right, Di?"

Diana had the sinking suspicion that something had transpired between her mother and her aunt but, right then, she did not want to get involved. Today would be her real first day as a tourist, sightseeing around New York City. That was what was important to her; she wanted to be able to go home at the end of the summer and have _something _to tell her friends about. She knew she definitely could not tell them about Jack. Or Kloppman. Or Stress. Or anything that happened so far on her vacation…

"Sure, Mom. Whatever you guys say," she said noncommittally. Whatever was going on between the twins, Diana did not want to get involved. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Ariadne said decisively. "Let's go."

The woman led the way out of the den with her sister and her niece following close behind. Arianrhod, her good humor restored to her, slung one of her arms around Diana's shoulders. She enjoyed baiting her sister and, after close to half an hour of interrogation, she found it amusing that Ariadne, at forty-four years old, was as embarrassed about her crush on Tony Higgins as if she was a schoolgirl.

Of course, as she had gotten her sister to admit, it was not just a crush. They had been dating for a bit of time, now – Ria just never told anyone about it.

Arianrhod shared a conspiratorial grin with her daughter as they followed Ariadne out of the apartment and into the elevator. "I'll tell you all about it later on, Diana."

Diana nodded. "Mm-hmm." _Mom can be such a gossip sometimes, and a tad immature. But, you know what, I wouldn't have her any other way. _She had been concerned; after their strange conversation of the night before, she had wondered if her mother would be wary toward her. Her fears were unfounded. Arianrhod Mason was back to her carefree, easy-going self.

She would miss her mother when she went back to New Jersey.

Despite her mother's attempt at a whisper, and Diana's non-answer, Ariadne's ears picked up the subtle conversation. Arianrhod's inherent paranoia seemed to be rubbing off on her twin sister. "What was that?" she asked as she pressed the _L_ button in the elevator. She had crossed her arms over her white blouse, in a guarded stance, and she resumed the position once the stainless steel doors closed. "Did somebody say something?"

Arianrhod cleared her throat. "Oh, yes, Ria. I was just wondering what our plans were for the afternoon."

Now, Ariadne had heard exactly what it was that Arianrhod had whispered to her daughter but, for the sake of an enjoyable afternoon, she ignored it purposely. However, that did not mean that she was pleased to hear her sister lie to her. She sighed. "I don't know." She turned to face her niece. "What would you like to do, Diana?"

Considering that all Diana had wanted to do since arriving on Thursday was to walk around New York and explore, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. "I just wanted to window shop and look around. What do you think?"

"Well, we're on Duane Street right now. That's only a few blocks away from Sixth Avenue. If you want to walk, we can walk down Canal Street, take a peek at all of the vendors down there and then head up the Avenue of the Americas. It's a bit of a walk but there are a bunch of shops and restaurants on 6th Avenue. Or, if you're anything like me, we can cross over onto Seventh Avenue and enter into the Fashion District. Either way, if we head straight up, we'll eventually find ourselves in Times Square. How does that sound, Diana?"

"Actually, Aunt Ria, that sounds wonderful." And, for the first time that morning, Diana grinned like she meant it. Finally, after being in the City for four days, she was finally going to begin her vacation.

--

"Okay. Maybe it wasn't that great of an idea," Diana said, complaining as she slid into the plastic seat. "My feet are killing me."

Arianrhod laughed as she took the seat next to Diana. "When you grow up in Manhattan, you learn early on to get used to blisters. If you don't want to use the subway or a taxi, that is," she teased, poking fun at her daughter. No matter how far they walked, and how much Diana's feet began to hurt, she refused to hail a taxi. She still had not gotten over the manic way the driver had driven when she first arrived in the City.

And subways? After they went into a nearby subway tunnel and a man wearing a large overcoat offered them 'a deal' on a bunch of subway tokens, she hightailed right back up to the street.

Ariadne followed behind them and took the seat opposite of her sister before setting down the plastic tray. "Oh, leave her alone, Roddy. We could all use the exercise, anyway."

Arianrhod reached forward and took her medium french fries and Big Mac off of the tray. "So says the woman who just bought us all McDonalds."

"You could have ordered a salad, like me, Sister, dear," Ariadne retorted as she used her teeth to open her low fat Ranch dressing packet and spread it over the lettuce in her salad.

Arianrhod took a hug bite out of her hamburger and, while chewing, said, "And what would the fun be in that? I'm on vacation, too, you know. I left my diet back in Jersey."

"Speaking of New Jersey," Diana interrupted, as she dipped one of her McNuggets in her sweet 'n sour sauce, "what time does your train arrive?"

"Oh, baby, are you that desperate for me to go back home?" Arianrhod teased, faking a pout.

Diana might have been worried that she had offended her mother if it was not for the twinkling in her green eyes. She laughed. "No, I was just trying to figure out how much longer I have to listen to you two bicker back and forth. And I wondered why Aunt Ria never comes to visit us," she joked.

There was a pause – a few seconds of silence – before her mother and her aunt laughed in response. However, those few seconds were enough for Diana to know that there was something behind the meaning of her words. She reached for her Coke and took a long sip, pretending not to have noticed that awkwardness of that moment. She did not want to know.

"Well, since my only daughter is so wanting to be rid of me," her mother began, in that dramatic way that she had, "let me find out." She picked up her rainbow colored knitted bag off of the floor and, after rummaging around it for a few moments, produced a train schedule. She opened it up, used her finger to line up her destination, and nodded. "The next train is in 45 minutes or so. We've got time."

Ariadne nodded before turning in her seat and pointing out the open door. "Yes. The train stations is only a few blocks that way so we can eat and then walk you to the station, Roddy. And then, maybe I can convince Diana to take a cab with me back to the apartment." She smiled. "I'm not sure if my old bones can take another 2 mile hike back."

Arianrhod picked up a french fry from her plate and tossed it at her twin. "Are you calling me old, Ria?"

She almost choked on her diet Coke. She swallowed the liquid and patted her chin with a napkin. "No, of course not, Roddy. That's not what I mean—"

Diana's mother started laughing loudly. "I'm just messing with you, Ria. Calm down."

"Mo-_om_," Diana whined. Her mother was just a _tad_ too embarrassing out in public sometimes.

Arianrhod turned on her daughter. "You know, honey, I just remembered something. Remember when we were talking on the phone on Friday?"

"Yeah?" Something about her mother's tone of voice told Diana that she should be worried. She could not remember anything of importance that they talked about, except for Arianrhod's upcoming visit to the City, but she was pretty sure that her mother had picked up on something.

"So, do you want to tell me about this boy you met?"

It was her turn to almost choke on her the french fry she had just popped into her mouth. "What?"

Arianrhod leaned over and patted Diana's back as she coughed. "Oh, don't be shy, Di. You mentioned a cute boy that you met since you've been here, but I didn't get to meet him. I want you to tell me about him."

Ariadne blinked her eyes in a robotic fashion, taken aback by her sister's statement. As far as she knew, there was only one boy that Diana had had the opportunity to meet since being in the City. _Jack. _"Diana?"

Diana had no idea as to how to answer either of them. She had thought her mother would have forgotten about that slip-up. So, rather than respond, she picked up a piece of her chicken and shoved it into her mouth, before making a big production of chewing it. "Can't talk… eating."

Both of the older women knew that it was just a trick to get them to stop that line of questioning. Her mother laughed (as she did quite often). However, as she continued to chew away at the meat, she glanced across the table at Ariadne.

Diana could not help but notice the stricken look on her aunt's face; she looked almost as if she had just taken a mouthful of something that was extremely bitter but did not to swallow it. She placed her fork down in the middle of her half-eaten salad. "You know what, Roddy?" she said, to Diana's eternal gratitude. "I think we should save the rest of this conversation for later. Your train will be here soon and you haven't finished your food yet."

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, something that Stress had told her in her dream clicked. _Sometimes I wonder if that was what made her fall in love with Jack… _Of course her aunt looked so upset. Her mother had just about confessed that Diana thought that the ghost boy was attractive. She could only imagine what Ria was thinking about at that moment – especially since she had told Diana to all but stay away from him.

Arianrhod, having no idea as to what affect her innocent question had on the other two women present, opened her mouth to argue but decided that her sister had a point – or, at least, that she looked so stubborn just then that she was not going to be swayed by a smart comment. She noticed the change in Ariadne's attitude, too. "Of course, Ria. You, too. Eat."

"Mmm," she replied, absently picking her fork back up and pushing a piece of lettuce around with the prongs.

Diana chewed her last nugget as long as she could. The way she figured it, the longer she kept her mouth full, the longer she could keep quiet.

It did not really matter, though. The three women ate the rest of their meal in silence after that.


	33. XXXIII

Author's Note: _And here is the next chapter. Between final exams, final papers, my mother's birthday and going to see Mary Poppins on Broadway on Tuesday, I have not been around. Throw in the fact that my internet has been down, on and off, for about 4 days now and me no happy. This chapter, I'm sure any readers will notice, is shorter than they have been but, if I went into what I have planned next, it would be _too _long (and I still have half a chapter of _LOST _to finish before Saturday). Anywho, another big revelation-type thing (or, better yet, another question, hehe), is in this chapter. But, before you read it, I want to say one thing: there are things that people might take for granted with this sucker. I have clues in the most unlikely of places. For example, you saw this character once before, very briefly. And I bet you did not think anything of him when you first met him. And _that _is why I love this story :) What about you?_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

December 7, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY THREE

--

Her rainbow knitted bag slung over her shoulder and her Mets cap planted firmly over her curls, Arianrhod Mason leaned in to give her daughter a hug. The Penn Station arrival board had just announced her train's gate – it was currently boarding and she had only a few minutes to make it down the stairs and to the third gate before the train left.

"Be good, baby. I want you to listen to what your aunt says but, remember, have some fun while you're here," she whispered in Diana's ear as she continued to give her daughter a squeeze. "And make sure you call your dear old mother and tell her all about it. Don't be afraid to use that new cell phone. I don't think it gives you cancer right away, whatever the silly TV says."

Diana rolled her eyes as she reciprocated the hug, though she had mixed emotions as she held tight to her mother. On the one hand, she loved her mother very much and it was upsetting to see her go after only a day and a half of a visit. But, on the other hand, it would be a lot easier to help Jack with her aunt back at work and her mother back in New Jersey. Not to mention, Diana would not mind the peace and quiet that would fill her aunt's apartment without the constant bickering of the two women. "Of course, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too, Di." Arianrhod pulled back and kissed Diana on her cheek. "You be a good girl and I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

"A few weeks? I thought I wasn't going back to New Jersey until the third week of August?" Diana asked, confused. She had been counting on those two free weeks that followed Jack's August 3rd deadline – did her mother plan on retrieving her early?

She watched as her mother re-shouldered her bag and straightened her cap. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ariadne sniff at the gesture; her aunt thought it looked ridiculous to wear a Mets hat with her afternoon outfit – which was why Arianrhod yanked it on over her curls once they left the McDonalds. Even at the age of forty-four, Diana knew that her mother loved to purposely bait her (six minutes) younger twin sister, especially since it was so rare that she had the opportunity to do so in person.

Arianrhod either missed the gesture or ignored it entirely as she let her motherly gaze fall on Diana. Her green eyes were twinkling as she, having already said goodbye to Ariadne, started to walk backwards toward the large number **3 **that hung over the escalator to the tracks. "Oh, don't worry. You are. I'm coming back her in the middle of July. You didn't think that I'd let my only baby turn eighteen and not be there for her?"

Diana smiled. "Thanks, Mom." It was weird but, in the excitement of everything that had happened since she left home, she had not thought of her birthday once – well, except for when she found out that Jack's old friend, Honor Williams, had died on her birthday. "I'll see you later!"

The smile slid off of her face as she waved her mother off. _Why is it that _everything _seems to revolve around this stupid mystery? _She shook her head. _I still have until tomorrow until Jack comes back to bug me. I _will _enjoy myself tonight._

Ariadne and Diana remained standing in the New Jersey Transit waiting area of Penn Station until Arianrhod's 7:12 p.m. train had finished boarding and had departed. Only then did Ariadne lead Diana back up the escalator and onto Seventh Avenue.

"Diana, dear?" said Ariadne, once they made it back onto the street. "Are you up to taking a cab back to the apartment or would you like to walk? It's not too dark out yet."

Diana thought about it. Even though her first ride in a taxi cab, on Thursday, was frightening, she had ridden in one to the theatre yesterday with her mother and her aunt and it had not been that bad. And, besides, her feet still hurt. "I think I can brave a taxi again, Aunt Ria."

Ariadne grinned – she was obviously relieved that Diana did not want to walk back to Duane Street – and brought Diana over to the taxi line stand right outside of the train station. The line was not very long – there were only two people in front of them – and, before she knew it, Ariadne had hailed a taxi for the pair of them.

"Where to, ma'am?" asked the gruff voice as the two women sat in the backseat of the yellow cab.

Diana stiffened. _Wait a sec… don't I know that voice?_

As Ariadne answered the driver ("Nine Duane Street, please"), Diana glanced at his identification that was taped to the back of his seat. She disregarded the picture of the thin, yet intimidating, young man with cyan eyes whose smirk, somehow, seemed familiar; instead, she guided her eyes to his name. Patrick Conlon. _I remember now…_

Diana sighed and momentarily closed her eyes as she shank back against the leather seat. _What is up with my luck lately? _She gripped the door handle even though the cabbie was still idling at the side of the busy street. She knew what this driver was capable of.

It seemed as if he remembered her, too. She could see those brilliant eyes of his looking at her through the rearview mirror – just like he had done, watching her struggle with her luggage, when he dropped her off at Duane Street on Thursday.

"Hey, don't I know you?" he asked, his eyes still focused on her as he pulled the taxi cab into oncoming traffic, cutting off an out of state driver. The Honda he cut off honked its horn but he did not even pay the slightest attention to the blaring sound. "Yeah," he said, nodding confidently, "I remember you. How have you been?"

Ariadne turned to look at Diana, her eyebrow raised questioningly. From her bemused expression, Diana could tell that she was trying to figure out how this young taxi driver knew her niece. Diana shrugged. "Good, I guess. You?"

He removed his right hand from the steering wheel – Diana caught the movement and immediately tightened her hold on the door handle – and waved it about as he turned to look at her over his shoulder – her hold was even tighter – with a smirk. "Same shit, different day, you know. But, thanks for asking, miss. I appreciate it." He nodded once and turned his head forward just in time to swerve around a careless pedestrian (who was attempting to cross the street when the red hand was present instead of the white man).

Diana swallowed back a frightened squeal – she longed to holler at the driver to keep his eyes on the road – but neither he nor Ariadne seemed concerned. She assumed that they were both too used to Manhattan traffic to be worried.

His voice, with that thick New York accent he had, called her attention back to him. "So, you enjoying your stay in the City?"

"I'm sorry, what?" She had not really been paying attention to him – it was hard not to focus on anything but the road – and she did not quite understand what he was asking her.

"Your vacation. You had a tour book out the other day when I dropped you off on Duane Street. Are you enjoying your stay?" the driver asked as he made a sharp turn that caused Diana to lean to her left. She leaned so far that she actually collided with her aunt's right shoulder. Ariadne just looked amused.

When Diana was sitting straight up again, she nodded. "Yeah. It's… uh… it's been interesting."

"That's good to hear," he answered as he pulled over to the side of the road, only narrowly missing the parked car behind him. To Diana's immense relief, they had made it to Duane Street _alive_. "Well, your fare comes to $21.25, ladies."

_Hey, it looks like he beat his time from Thursday. It cost me $23.50 to get from Penn Station to Duane Street then._

As Ariadne drew her Coach wallet from her purse to pay the driver, Diana opened her door. But, before she could climb out of the cab (and kiss the ground that she walked on), the driver swiveled in his seat to speak to her again. "Hey, I, you know, I just wanted to tell you that… if you happen to need a cab sometime… why don't you give me a call?" He spun back around and, after picking up a piece of scrap paper from the passenger seat and a pencil, he started to jot down some numbers. "I'd be more than happy to give you a lift. Maybe even show you some nice tourist-type places while you're here," he added as he dropped the pencil on the seat, turned around and offered her the scrap of paper.

Diana did not know what to say. The driver had to be at least three, maybe four, years older than her and, besides, she was not that accustomed to men hitting on her and giving her their phone numbers – whether they were offering her a service or not. However, she was aware that she was expected to say _something_. "Thanks. Umm… my name is Diana." _There. That didn't sound too loserish… I hope._

"Patrick," he replied, a bit unnecessarily – his identification, after all, was still on the back of his seat – as he swapped his smirk for a wolfish grin, his cyan eyes sparkling mischievously. Diana blushed at the attention.

Ariadne chose that moment to clear her throat as she opened the door on her side. Diana took that as a sign that her aunt was ready to go inside so she finally climbed out of the cab. Her aunt handed the money to Patrick through his open window before striding in front of the idling cab and meeting Diana on the curb.

Patrick honked his horn once before pulling back onto the road and driving off.

Diana watched the car disappear amongst the constant traffic, entirely unaware of the way her aunt was looking over at her. When the car was out of her sight, and she could stop to think about what exactly had just happened, only then did she catch the questioning look Ariadne was giving her. "Yes, Aunt Ria?"

Ariadne crossed her arms over her blouse, her handbag dangling from her right hand. "What was that about, Diana?"

The girl blushed and stuck the piece of scrap paper in the back pocket of her jeans. "I don't right know."

"Oh, I think I do."

_You do. You want to tell me about it? _Diana grinned. "Really? What?"

Ariadne dropped her hands to her side and shook her head. "It's obvious, Diana. That young man says that he has seen you before, correct? Was he your driver when you arrived?"

"Yeah…" Diana admitted, not sure where her aunt was going with this. That he was her driver was quite obvious. What she was trying to figure out was why he gave his number to her so that he could monopolize on her cab-neediness. And then it dawned on her. _Oh, yeah… I remember…_

Ariadne was still talking so, rather than dwell on that – it had been so nice to think that an _older _man liked her – Diana listened to her aunt. She was smiling now, a thin smile but a smile all the same. "He must have taken quite a fancy to you, dear. And, look at you. You were blushing like mad in the cab. You must have been attracted to him, as well. I admit," she continued, as she began to walk towards her building, Diana following behind her, "I was quite a bit preoccupied when your mother asked about this 'cute' fellow of yours. Forgive me, but I feared that you might have developed a crush, per se, on your… new _friend_," she said, after a moments hesitation. Diana knew at once to who she was referring. "And I was worried. But I see I was wrong now." She held the door open for her niece and draped one of her arms over Diana's shoulder as she guided her niece towards the elevator. "I think you should go for it, Diana. He was quite handsome."

Diana was glad to know that her initial hunch that Ariadne associated the 'cute' boy with Jack was correct – she was even gladder to know that her aunt believed, now, that Diana had been referring to the young cab driver instead. However, it almost felt like she was lying to her. She shook her head. "That's not it, Aunt Ria. He just remembers me because I gave him this really big tip. He said that the fare came to 23 some odd dollars and, because I got… well, distracted… I ended up giving him forty bucks instead. He smiled at me but that was it."

"Of course, dear. If you believe so," Ariadne said softly, once they entered the elevator, as if she did not believe what Diana had said at all. It was easier for her to understand that Diana could become involved with a cabbie than a ghost. "But, I would not lose that number. You never know when you'll need a cab. I'll just have to make sure that you have enough… money." And then she winked.

Diana felt a little disturbed to see her grown aunt wink at her like that. She smiled weakly. "Thanks, Aunt Ria. I'll… I'll remember that."

Ariadne continued to smile, satisfied, as she left her arm around Diana. When the elevator _ping_ed that they had arrived her destination, she finally pulled it back. She patted her hair and, when the doors opened, she exited the elevator first. "Come along, Diana. I think there's a quart of Rocky Road calling to us."

"I thought you were eating healthy, Aunt Ria," Diana teased, glad that her aunt was losing that uptightness that had plagued her all weekend long. She remembered Ariadne as being a fun woman, if a complete workaholic at times. That was the sort of person she wanted to spend the summer with – not this Ria-clone.

The woman opened the front door – Kloppman very rarely left the apartment on his days off and, even then, never locked the doors behind him; the old butler was very trusting – and ushered Diana in. "Don't tell your mother, but I can't stand that rabbit food."

Diana laughed. Now _this _was the woman she remembered from her childhood.


	34. XXXIV

Author's Note: _I._ _Hate. Writer's. Block. Seriously. I just don't know what the heck happened. It's like, all at once, every single one of my ideas has shriveled up and gone off to hibernate. __I've been doing a lot of _Labyrinth _stories lately (ironically, pretty David Bowie does not cause writer's block; Christian, why have you forsaken me?). Maybe once that muse stops squashing my Newsies muse, I'll be good to go. _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

December 12, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY FOUR

--

"So there was your mother, one foot on the window pane and the other on the tree branch, with the leg of her pants tangled on a protruding limb. She had a pair of cops yelling at her from underneath the tree, the siren on their car blaring. Turns out some neighbor, who hadn't known us from the summer before, thought that she was a prowler trying to break into our country home and called the police. I was hiding underneath the bed in the room, worried that some kind of wild animal was coming to get me. Poor Roddy, she couldn't even move from her position for fear that she would tumble down the two stories to the ground. Finally your grandfather woke up and came into the bedroom to see what was going on – Roddy was yelling at the cops not to shoot her – and he found your mother doing one heck of a split as she tried to sneak back into our bedroom."

Ariadne was having a hard time finishing her story, she was laughing so hard. After setting up in the den with a glass of milk each and a half gallon of Breyers Rocky Road ice cream for them to share, Diana had asked her aunt about what life was like when she and Arianrhod were growing up. A bit sneaky on the girl's part – though she really was interested in the anecdotes, there was a part of her that was curious to see how Ariadne would approach the matter; whether or not she would mention the ghost's role in her childhood – but, after hearing countless tales of the naughty things her mother did as a girl, she was glad that she had asked. There was nothing like a good dose of blackmail material.

The older woman composed herself, dabbing a tissue at her made-up eyes, wiping away the eyeliner that ran due to her tears of laughter. "And that," she said, concluding the most recent anecdote, "is why your mother is no longer allowed in Essex, Connecticut without a chaperone."

Diana was almost choking on her mouthful of the chocolate-marshmallow-nut mix. Thinking that her aunt's story was over, she had scooped out the last bit of the ice cream and shoved it in her waiting mouth. However, when Ariadne delivered the last line, her laughs turned to coughs as a piece of almond got caught in her throat. She swallowed after a few seconds and tried to cover up her near-death experience by chuckling weakly. "Wow, Aunt Ria. Mom has never told me that story."

"Of course not, dear. You don't think Roddy wants to give you any idea now, do you?"

She considered what Ariadne said for a moment before shrugging. "True," she acknowledged, as she continued to lick her spoon, "but I don't think I would want to wander around a small town at night, even for a dare."

Ariadne gave her own spoon a final lick before setting it to rest in the empty ice cream box. "I didn't think that she would actually do it but that's your mother for you. Always the impulsive one, even when there were plenty of responsibilities abound."

There was almost a wistful quality to Ariadne's voice and, despite her earlier intention of seeing if she could get her aunt to mention the ghost of Jack Kelly, Diana quickly tried to change the subject. "You and Mom sure had an interesting childhood."

She was not sure if she saw it or not but, for a brief second, she might have imagined a look of immense relief passing over Ariadne's face. It was gone before Diana could get a better look. The woman was laughing again.

"Oh, that's nothing, Diana, compared to other things that took place in Connecticut. Your mother just laughed over that one. But that Christmas…"

Diana, following her aunt's example, placed her spoon inside the empty ice cream container, her green eyes twinkling. "Christmas? What happened to Mom on Christmas?"

"Well, your grandfather was insistent that we return to Essex for the holiday and show the neighbors that your mother and I were not the devil-children they perceived us to be. We left for the countryside a few days before Christmas and your grandmother decided that we would have a real holiday – including cutting our own tree down from the local tree farm. Pop-Pop bought an axe and, after cutting the tree down, loaded it on a sleigh and had Roddy and me drag it back. Your mother and I were quite excited until…"

"Yeah?" Diana said, prompting her aunt to finish the story. Just like the bevy of tales her aunt had told her that evening, she had never heard anything about a Christmas spent in Connecticut. However, if this could explain why her mother was so adamant that they use a plastic tree annually instead of a real one, then Diana wanted to hear the end of this story.

"Until we tried to get the pine tree up in the stand and a mouse crawled right out of the branches. The little, brown critter scurried across the floor so fast that the only one who saw it was Roddy. She screamed so loud and let go of the tree – the tree fell right on top of me, so I wasn't that happy – before screaming some more. Poor girl. Pop-Pop couldn't find it when he went looking for it and your grandmother and I believed that it ran out of the house, but your mother was convinced it was going to get her in her sleep. So, instead, she ran out the front door, still screaming, mind you, until the neighbors came out to see what the ruckus was about."

Ariadne paused and wiped at her eyes again; the tears had started to well again as she tried not to laugh at her sister's misfortunes. "Your grandfather brought us back to New York that night and, needless to say, that was the last time we had Christmas in Connecticut."

Diana joined in on the laughter – Ariadne could not help herself; she could still hear the ear-splitting screams, even thirty years later – but, in the middle of a _ha,_ she found herself stopping. There was a presence just outside of the den – a presence that she felt before she knew for sure that someone was there. Turning her head to her left, across the leather sofa, so that she could see the open door, Diana watched as Kloppman poked his head in the room.

_Phew. It's just Mr. Kloppman. I thought, for a second, it might be him…_

"I just wanted to wish you ladies a good night," the elderly butler said pleasantly as he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. "Is there anything that you would like me to do before I go to bed, Ms. Ariadne?"

The woman shook her head. After all, it was still Sunday – it was still his day off. As it was, she already felt bad about the extent of the mess her twin sister had left in the apartment over the course of her weekend stay. "No, Alfred. You go get some rest."

"Goodnight, ma'am," he replied, as he bowed his head in respect towards his employer. The gesture caused his eyeglasses to slip down his nose again and he took a moment to readjust their position before turning towards Diana. "Good night, Miss Mason. Make sure you get rest, too."

_I don't like the way he said that, _Diana thought as she nodded. _Almost like he knows that Jack is supposed to come back with more pictures tomorrow._ "Good night, Mr. Kloppman."

"Yes, Alfred. Sleep well," Ariadne added. As soon as the butler ducked out of the den, she stood up. "Well, Diana, I think that he has the right idea. I think some sleep would do us all a bit of a favor, don't you?" she asked as she reached for the empty Breyers box that had been resting between her and her niece. "How about we finish these tales tomorrow after I get home from work?"

"That would be nice, Aunt Ria."

--

"Jack?"

The ghost boy was lying on his cot, his eyes closed, as he rested. The soft ball of fur, curled up at his feet, heard the call and lifted her head, one of her triangle-shaped ears twitching as she tried to trace the source of the voice. When she could not, Four unwound herself and got to her feet; she opened her eyes before her master did, the bluish-green tint glowing ominously in the dark cove. "Meow."

Jack did not stir. If the cat did not know any better, she would have thought that the spirit was sleeping but she _did _know better – being a spirit, Jack did not sleep; he just rested. But, Four also knew that when Jack was resting, nothing could call his spirit back unless he wanted to be called. And, given the way he had moped about in the cove the past two days, doing nothing more than resting or gazing mutinously at that black book of his, the cat could see that he did not want to be called.

Which, of course, was why she chose that instant to stretch fully before pouncing right onto the center of Jack's stomach. She assumed that, because he was lying on the bed rather than floating above it, he would be solid; her hunch was justified when, almost immediately after she made contact with a very solid abdomen, the ghost boy's brown eyes sprang open. "Uhn…" was all he had to say.

Her duty fulfilled, Four jumped from Jack's stomach to the floor before resting on her haunches, staring stonily ahead at him as he tried to figure out what had just happened to him. Her oddly colored eyes twinkled up at him as she nonchalantly licked a paw before rubbing at her muzzle.

"Four?" he asked, sitting up, rubbing his stomach. "What was that about, girl?"

Her only answer was a haughty stare.

"Jack?"

The call answered his question for him – Jack groaned. Kloppman was trying to contact him again. He did not answer his old friend, though, as he was not ready to face the truth behind Les Jacobs's accusations. Instead, he turned towards his cat – he was becoming more and more convinced that Four was not just a cat but he was not about to admit that to anyone – and sneered. "Was that necessary, Four?"

"Meow."

"Jack Kelly. I know that you can hear me, so listen up."

Kloppman's voice cut in and the cat, rather than meowing, mewed lowly, almost like a purr. Jack wagged his finger in Four's direction. "Four, stop staring at me like that. I hear him but I ain't talking. Not yet."

The cat leaned forward and, extending her back legs, drew up to all four feet. She walked over to the cot and, rearing backwards, she sailed up and joined him on the mattress. This was not a strange occurrence – Four enjoyed sitting with Jack – but, this time, she stalked right up to his side and batted at him with her paw (taking care not to extend her claws, though).

Taking this as a sign that he was either, after nearly a century of being alone, totally losing it or his earlier hunch about Four being more than a cat – to which he blamed Diana for bringing that theory to light; he would have been happier blissfully unaware of Four's idiosyncrasies – Jack sighed. "Well, there ain't no harm in letting him talk. I can listen, right?"

Four purred. Her eyelids closed nearly all the way; only a sliver of those strange eyes was visible to Jack. He took that as an affirmative answer as he listened to what Kloppman had to say.

"I can't imagine what has kept you away from the building this weekend because I know you, boy. A warning from Miss Mason is hardly enough to keep you away from anywhere you wanted to be." There was a pause and Jack could almost see the old man rubbing his forehead; it was a habit of Kloppman's, Jack knew, for whenever he was frustrated and Kloppman… his very tone told Jack that he was frustrated.

"Whatever it is, Jack, I just wanted to remind you that you do have a duty to uphold."

_I know._

"We're counting on you."

_I know._

"She _needs _you, Cowboy."

_I know…_

"And, well, there's not much time left."

_I know._

"So, I really hope to see you tomorrow morning. Ariadne will be gone early and the girl's mother has already returned home. I… I think you need to speak with this Daite girl. Something's… interesting… about her."

_I… I know that, too. Damn._

Kloppman's words reminded Jack about Oscar's unpleasant visit from Friday night and he had to cringe. After reading Les's book and learning that Rhiannon's husband (Dave's kid brother) died believing that he had murdered his girl, very little remained in the ghost boy's consciousness. In a word, he had forgotten about Oscars (the Devil's) proposition.

_Diana Mason for her soul._

_I might actually have to give some consideration to that, now. _

Maybe then he would feel justified. Maybe then he would feel guiltless.

Maybe then he could forget Les's harsh words.

_Cowboy did it._

--

Diana yawned as she exchanged her jeans and polo shirt for an oversized tee and a pair of shorts. Even though she had gotten to sleep late that morning, she had to admit that she was tired – walking all those New York City blocks had the tendency to do that to a girl. She did remember, before she slid her jeans to the floor, to remove the scrap of paper from her back pocket; she set it on her bed as she finished changing. Once she was done, she picked the paper up and actually looked at it.

In very small, somewhat slanted, print, it read: _Patrick Conlon, 201-368-9014. Call me, hon._

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she thought about the cab driver. He had been cute, in an obnoxious, if-only-he-knew-how-to-drive way, and it was tempting to imagine that he might be interested in her as something more than a generous tipper. But Diana knew better – and, even if she was wrong, it did not matter. Her summer was already booked.

Flicking the piece of paper with her free hand, the girl shook her head and turned around. Initially, she had planned on picking up her cell phone from her dresser stand and entering the phone number – like her aunt said, _just in case_ – but, when her eyes landed on the 'Fate' box, Diana figured that she had a better place for the paper.

Diana opened up the box, carefully trying not to remember just what that smear was above the clasp, and lifted the blank black book up out of its resting place, setting it beside the open wooden box. The musty smell of cedar and _old_ accosted her but she was growing more used to it with every time she opened the box; disregarding the odor, Diana placed the paper inside the wooden square (for safekeeping).

With her right hand, she reached for the book but, for some reason, rather than her fingers wrapping around the small book, they accidentally sent it falling over the side of the small table. She sighed and, bending over slightly, Diana lowered herself to retrieve the book and was surprised to see that the photograph she had hidden within the pages had slipped out. She had forgotten about it.

She scooped the photograph up but, rather than sliding it back within the folds of the empty book, Diana clutched it in between her fingers. She rose back up to her standing height and absently set the book back inside the 'Fate' box, while still holding onto the photograph. With a soft shutting sound, the box was closed and Diana brought the picture over to her bed with her.

Her mind was blank – it had worked that morning when she looked at the picture and she was pleased to have figured out that, as long as she kept her thoughts clear, she could avoid jumping into a vision without her consent – as she stared down at the photograph.

It was the same one of Les Jacobs and Rhiannon Daite – there was nothing more to it, really, than that. But, as she looked at it, Diana became curious. _The first time I saw a vision of Rhiannon Daite, she was getting ready to marry a man called Robbins but, as far as I know, she married this guy. She doesn't look that much older in this picture than in that wedding portrait Jack showed me – did she ditch the rich man for my great-grandfather? But, how did she afford this building?_

_And what about Jack's relationship to the Jacobs's?_ _I know how he got involved with Rhiannon, thanks to Stress, but how did he know Les or that Sarah girl, either, _Diana thought, thinking back to the vision she had of Kloppman and Les talking about Les's older sister – the same Sarah Jacobs that she had met (with the third sibling, David) in another vision. Both had seemed so upset at Jack's death; they knew him – but how?

_And then… Stress. I don't know what to think about her. Or that dream I had. It was just… odd. But she did answer a lot of questions, almost as many as she posed by coming to me during the night. I mean, what the heck was she talking about when Rhiannon told Les about feeling split? Does that mean that my great-grandfather was aware of Jack's ghost haunting his young wife? Did he know that it was the spirit of a boy he had known in life?_

_I'm so confused…_

Now, Diana was tired. The past few days had been trying and, due to the scary movie (which she had, thankfully, pushed to the back of her mind for dissection at a later date – like, after the curse was done and she could see whether or not she would continue to see dead people), she had had a weird dream last night. She was hoping that the strange dream, starring Stress, had been a result of seeing that movie, though she was not sure what to expect anymore.

Nevertheless, despite her fatigue and Jack's promise from Saturday morning that he would be back, bright and early, on Monday, Diana made a decision as she sat on her bed, the old, faded picture still in hand.

Staring down at the photograph, the girl let the image overtake her senses.

_Show me…_


	35. XXXV

Author's Note: _Well, here's the next chapter. I'm actually quite happy with the way the plot has gone so far. This chapter answers a couple of questions but, at the same time, it poses more. But, come now, you were all expected that, right. And, in a way, this is the Christmas chapter. Considering this story takes place in early June, I thought it might be nice to mention Christmas this way. I'm going to try really hard to get this story back to a Sunday update day so I should have this done for Christmas Eve (I hope). If not, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate (and Happy Holidays to everyone else). Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

December 20, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY FIVE

--

_Diana felt a little woozy as she fell into her vision. She brought her hand to her head, closed her eyes and waited for the brief wave of nausea to pass over her. As soon as it had, she dared to lift one eyelid and take a look at her surroundings. _Where am I now?

_She was not outside, that much was certain. She was in a small room, furnished with an antique table and a daybed. It was quaint, if humble, and smelled strongly of pine. Diana spun around, both eyes open wide, and understood the overwhelming scent: there was a towering tree in the corner of the room, adorned with tinsel and strands of popcorn. It was a Christmas tree._

Well, this is weird, _she murmured as she walked over to the tree and pulled a pine needle off. It was somewhat sticky and nearly pricked her. _Here I am, with a Christmas tree, even though it's still the beginning of June. Or, at least, it's June 7th in 1999. I can only imagine that it's December wherever I am now. _She let the pine needle fall to the wooden floor, joining the handful of needles that were already scattered beneath the lowermost branches, before placing her hands on her hips._

Okay, I know _when _I am, but _where _am I? _She tried to remember what she had thought to herself before she turned her attention to the picture of Rhiannon and Les Jacobs. _I wanted to learn more about my family and this whole mess. Maybe I'm in their house?

_Diana crossed the room and saw a small dresser to the side of the floral print daybed. She walked over to it and, to her surprise, she saw that there was a picture frame resting atop of the wooden dresser. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth as she lifted the holder up to her face. It was the same exact photograph that she had with her in her room at Ariadne's apartment. _Isn't that interesting…

"_Rhiannon, honey? I'm home." A door slammed as a distinctly masculine called out from another room._

_Diana put the photograph back where it belonged before whirling around. It just dawned on her that she was not sure what sort of vision this would be – would the homeowner see her or not? And, if so, what would he think to find her in the middle of his apartment? The only thing that she could think of was that, in case he _was _able to see her, at least she looked just like Rhiannon. Maybe she could play it off like she was her great-grandmother…_

_As the man entered into the room, a brown bag held tightly in his arms and a hat on his head, and looked directly past her, Diana let out a sigh of relief. He did not see her, she knew, and, no longer worrying that she would be caught, she turned her attention onto him. Part of his face was hidden by the large bag he carried but he was still recognizable; after all, she had just been staring at his photograph. It was Les Jacobs._

_Les, looking a good deal older than he had the last time she saw him – in the vision with Kloppman at the old lodging house – placed the bag down on the daybed and called out to his wife again. "Rhiannon? Are you all right?" He sounded a bit nervous as he removed his coat and placed it next to the groceries he had brought in with him._

_Diana could not figure out why he was worried until Rhiannon entered the room – a very _pregnant _Rhiannon. She was waddling as she kept both of her hands over her distended belly, but she had a great grin across her face. "Of course I'm all right, Les. Why wouldn't I be?"_

_He chuckled weakly as he awkwardly hugged the young woman and kissed her on her cheek. "It's just getting so close to the baby being due. And I don't want anything to happen to you."_

_Rhiannon shook her head as she gave her husband a squeeze on his arms. "Trust me, Les. Everything will be fine. The baby still has some time. The doctor told me he doesn't think that he will come until the end of January. Until then, we can just enjoy our last Christmas together alone and our first in the new apartment."_

_Les held up one of his fingers before hurrying over to the bag he brought in with him. Digging through it briefly, he pulled out a small baseball cap and brought it over to his wife. "What do you think? Do you think our son will like this? It's a Brooklyn Dodgers hat."_

_Rhiannon took the tiny hat from her husband and jokingly set it on top of her protruding stomach. "A gift from his Uncle Spot?"_

_Les laughed. "How could you tell that it was from Sarah's husband?"_

"_Spot Conlon has a sick fixation with his hometown. From the baseball team to that East River and his docks, if it's from Brooklyn, I know better than to assume that it's from anyone other than him."_

_As Rhiannon removed the hat and handed it back to her husband, Diana paused at the mention of the name _Conlon. _It was strange – when she first saw Patrick Conlon's last name in the cab that afternoon, she thought that the only reason it was familiar was because he had been her cabbie on Thursday. But, as Rhiannon made quick mention of Sarah Jacob's husband (_Spot?_), and said his last name, she remembered another time she had heard the name _Conlon – _when Stress told her about the people that both Jack and Rhiannon knew._

Conlon… I wonder…

_Diana's thoughts about just how many people could be involved with Jack's damn Devil's curse were cut off, however, when Les began speaking to Rhiannon in a hushed tone. In her experience, whenever two people – especially adults – began to whisper, especially when there was no one around to hear their conversation, whatever they were talking about had to be interesting._

"_Rhiannon, my dear, are you happy?"_

_Rhiannon looked surprised at his question. "Of course I am. I am married to a wonderful man, we own a lovely building and I'm going to have my first child. Why wouldn't I be?"_

_Les seemed to hem and haw as the tip of his boot pushed at a stray pile of pine needles. He obviously had something on his mind but was not sure how to approach it. Diana crossed the room and stood beside them, trying to make sure that she could hear what he had to say – it promised to be even more interesting than she had thought. _

"_I don't know. I'm near ten years older than you and I have a simple job. I feel… like I've not supported you the way that I should. Not like Paul did…"_

_Rhiannon recoiled as if she had been slapped; his words hurt her and she raised her hand to her mouth. Biting absently at her thumbnail, she stared at Les. "How could you say that, Les? Paul, may he rest in peace, was not my choice in a husband – that was all my mother's. I chose you, didn't I? Money had never been important to me and, when Paul had his… accident… he left me enough money that I'd never need again. Yes, that money bought this building. But I did that for you, Les. You loved this old place when it was the lodging house and I didn't want to see it torn down. I thought you were proud of me."_

_Les could see the tears welling up in her green eyes and knew, for the first time during her complicated pregnancy, that they were not the result of a mood swing; no, he had driven her to cry. Feeling like a scoundrel for doing that to his wife, he held out his arms in an open gesture of apology. She entered his embrace without any words and Les ran his hands down the back of her pale colored dress. "Oh, honey, I am. It's just… I'm the man. I'm supposed to support you and our child but because of your first husband's money, I have no need to. It makes me feel… inadequate. But that's not your fault, Rhiannon. That's just mine. I'm sorry."_

_Sniffling against his work shirt, Rhiannon continued to cry as she struggled to get herself under control. "Don't be sorry, Les. It's my fault, too. I have just been so preoccupied that I didn't notice how bad you felt about… things. It's just… Paul died six years ago and… I'm sorry to say I don't miss him. I didn't love him, not like I love you and I wish that you would stop comparing yourself to him. You win, by far. It's your son I am carrying, right?"_

_Les could not figure out how Rhiannon came to be so certain that their child would be a boy. It had been a topic of constant conversation ever since she learned she was expecting and there was not way to sway her mind that it was possible the child might be a daughter. She was convinced that he would be a boy. And, as her tears bled right through his shirt and dampened his chest, Les realized that she could give birth to a kitten instead and he'd be satisfied. Rhiannon was right after all – it was _their _child. Paul Robbins was dead and gone. He needed to stop trying to measure up to a ghost._

"_You're quite right, my love," he murmured into her hair as he continued to rub her back. "Don't mind me. The factory has been crazy with the upcoming holidays and I'm just tired."_

_Rhiannon nodded as she drew herself away from her husband. She took a step back and nearly stepped on Diana. Diana, realizing how awkward it was to be eavesdropping on this scene – even though she would not miss this for the world; it really was fascinating to see her great-grandmother carrying her grandmother – stepped away, just in case Rhiannon bumped into her and felt her. She knew she was invisible but she was not sure if she was intangible – and she did not want to find out._

_Rhiannon, it seemed, accepted Les's apology but was not prepared to let the matter drop. "Les…"_

"_Yes?" he replied, almost hesitantly._

"_You remember what I told you about? About… _him…_?"_

_Diana's ears perked up. _Is she talking about Jack?

_Les looked wary. "Yes. What about him?"_

_Rhiannon shook her head. "Well, I haven't seen… _him… _since I found out that I was with child. And the strangest thing has been happening lately."_

_Les swapped his hesitant expression for another of concern. "What is it, honey? Did Jack hurt you?"_

_Rhiannon looked a bit alarmed when Les let slip the ghost boy's name but recovered nicely by shaking her head and smiling. "No, he would never do that. You know… knew… _him. _He's a good boy at heart—" Les sniffed and then snorted but she continued speaking, "and he's never done anything bad but lately… it's hard to explain, Les. I feel almost as if I was two people."_

_This was not the first time that Rhiannon had made a comment like that and it unnerved Les. Nevertheless, he feigned a grin of his own as he reached forward and patted her pregnant belly lovingly. "Well, of course you feel that way, Rhiannon. There are two of you."_

_The face that Rhiannon made told Diana that she knew full well that that was not what she meant but the older woman just shook her head in a joking manner. "Yeah, that must be it. I guess I'm just as tired as you are. And it's just weird not to see… you know… for so long. I mean, I've known him since I was sixteen and all of a sudden he's gone? Do you think he figured it out? Do you think he knows who killed Stress?"_

_Diana hurried over to Les's side so that she could hear his response. There was a very strange expression threatening to overwhelm his face; it was almost as if he knew more than he was letting on. However, just as Les opened his mouth to reply, Diana felt someone grab her arm and whirl her around._

_Her back to the now mute Les and Rhiannon, Diana found herself facing a young man wearing faded brown slacks, a grey button-down shirt, and a darker colored vest. There was a black bowler hat atop his head that kept his short, dark hair hidden from view. He was glaring down at her, a feral smile spreading his thin, chapped lips._

_In a word, this boy was terrifying. Diana subconsciously took a step away from him. "Who are you?"_

"_I am whoever you want me to be, Diana."_

He knows my name. How does he know my name? "_How the hell do you know my name? And what are you doing here?"_

_His smile was exchanged for a smirk. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know," he said, almost in a sing-song manner, as he pulled her close to him. She struggled against his hold but he was way too strong for her. "Don't fight me, Diana. It's more fun if you don't fight."_

"_Get off of me," she grunted, her heart racing. She was still in the Jacobs's living room but neither of them could see the scuffle that was going on behind them. There was only one hope – she had to pull herself out of the vision. But how?_

_The man chuckled lowly and dropped his nose down next to her cheek. He breathed her in, inhaling her very essence, while disturbing her greatly. She flinched in his embrace and he let her go. "Come with me, Diana."_

"_You wish, loser."_

_His eyebrow lifted as he raised the corresponding hand. "Why, a spitfire, are we? Even better…" _

_Diana could not believe what was going on. This boy scared the hell out of her while, at the same time, he was infuriating her. She could not understand how he could see her or how he had found his way into a vision that _she _was having. "What are you doing here?" _

_His response was to chuckle again and snap his fingers. And, with that, the vision faded away to only darkness._

--

The demon boy stole the girl out of the vision and put her to sleep. Though she had fallen back against the bed when she entered the vision, Oscar leaned over and picked her up. He brought her to her feet, though she was heavy, and leaned her up against his humanoid form. "Diana Mason," he murmured, his voice rusty and low.

Diana only whimpered in response. She was fighting him with her mind. He had removed her from a scene she was enjoying – watching Les and Rhiannon – and she was upset at his forwardness. She tried to push him out of her head but he was still much too strong for her. Though, he had to admit, the fight she had put up during the vision and now intrigued him. _She_ _is a strong one_, he thought, _and it's_ _no wonder the master is so intent on receiving her in Hell._

He gave her a squeeze, much rougher than any one else had given her, enjoying the feel of her soft, human flesh against his arms. Being dead all of these years, he missed the touch of a living, breathing woman and longed to damage the girl – but he knew he could not. She was Devil-marked and therefore off-limits to a demon like him. _For now, at least_.

Just then, however, it was Oscar's responsibility to stall the girl from actually solving Jack's trivial mystery. It had been one of his favorite parts of this particular job – whenever one of the Daite girls got too close, it was his responsibility to make them forget. And Diana… she was learning too much, too fast. He had not thought that he would get the chance to get this close to the fourth generation girl until he reaped in her soul; the other girls only met with him a few times, and each one only after a few years had past.

But there he was, only four days since Diana had met up with Jack, already with a memory to erase. Again, he marveled at her strength. If he did not know any better, he would have thought that this girl was actually the dead girl reborn. But what a mess that would be if she was…

Oscar sighed and gave Diana another squeeze before draining the knowledge she had learned from her last vision from her mind. When she woke up that next morning, she would not remember anything. Which was exactly why the Devil had dispatched him Above.

His job complete, he was about to slide out of the girl's consciousness when he got an idea – an extremely delightful… extremely delightfully wicked… idea. Her small frame was huddled up against him, sleeping within an empty dream, and he ran one of his faux hands across her soft curls, inhibited by the rubber band that kept them out of her face.

Still standing with Diana Mason in his embrace in the middle of a bedroom in Ariadne Cearr's apartment, Oscar leaned down and placed his lips against her ear. He blew softly, gifting her with the prize of ignorance. It would not please the master if he lost both her soul and Cowboy's soul when he could retrieve them both. He knew Cowboy too well and was aware that he would be more than willing to sell the girl out if it meant that he was safe; all Oscar had to do was keep the knowledge out of his grasp and that of the fourth generation child, and he would succeed. As it was, Diana was drawing too close to the truth and should she chance upon what really happened that night in 1899, the Devil would be left without a single soul at all.

Besides, Oscar enjoyed causing trouble. And between erasing much of this vision from her mind and implanting fake memories in their place, Oscar knew he was causing quite a lot of trouble. _It's good to be bad…_

He smirked and blew against her flesh a second time, enjoying the way she unconsciously wiggled up against his hold, struggling for the warmth of the demon. He used the darkness inherent to his position and wove the lie about her before lying her back down on the bed in the center of the room. Once she was sprawled out again, Oscar gave her a rough pat across her cheek. She would make a great plaything for him when his master had control of her soul. He would have to remember to ask for Diana as his reward instead of more Red Death when the time came that he could claim both her and Cowboy.

Oscar stared down at her slumbering form, his dark eyes burning brightly red, the flames licking against his pupils in a very disturbing manner. What was even more terrifying than the flames was the intensity with which they burned; that same intensity was how badly the demon wanted to play with her. He had not had a good toy since he retrieved that blonde bombshell's soul in the '50's. But Marilyn was too weak and she was broken before long. He hoped Diana would have more spirit and life when he stole her away to the afterlife.

He exited in an acrid puff of ash, leaving a small burn mark in the carpet right beside Diana's bed. She sniffed in her sleep, her nose wrinkling at the strong scent of brimstone and death, but the strength of his black magic was too strong and she did not wake. She rolled over, instead, pulling her blanket around her. Her body was crying out for the extreme heat that radiated off of Oscar, though she did not know it. She did not know anything at all just then.

And that was when Oscar's hold on her mind took control and brought her into a new dream.

_It was so very like that first dream she had after meeting the ghost of Jack Kelly._

_She was there, but she was not. She could see everything but heard nothing._

_There were flashes and it took even longer than the first time to realize that the scenes kept changing yet she remained. She never moved though everything around her seemed to. She was freezing cold as she stood immobilized; her hands were the only things that could move – not her eyes, not her feet – and she used them to wrap around her arms in an attempt to get warm. It did not work._

_The cold took her attention off of much of the first scene. She saw it without really understanding. She could make out Jack, looking haughty and superior as he faced off against two boys about his size: one with a mustache, the other wearing a bowler hat. Vaguely she thought she recognized the second boy but as her consciousness struggled to recall who he was, he became all the fuzzier and she stopped trying to think. Instead, she just watched the scene as a whole. She had no idea where they were or why the three of them looked as if they were getting ready to start a fight but, before she could try to look deeper into the situation, the scene changed._

_She watched closer during the second scene. Again, she saw Jack. Wearing the same clothes that she had seen him wear since they met, he was fiddling with his rope belt, and he was alone. It was dark outside and she could almost taste the tension in the air. Jack, obviously, was waiting for someone. Just when another figure entered the scene – a silhouette against the moonlight – the scene changed._

_Diana's first thought with this new scene was that it was the previous one again. Jack was still alone, and his hands were still on the rope belt. And, again, someone seemed to be just outside of the scene – the tension was still heavy and she could detect a good amount of nerves emanating from the young man. That's when she saw it and her green eyes widened. Tucked underneath the rope belt, there was a silver blade that reflected the moonlight. And, just as the next player entered in on the scene, Jack reached for the knife and struck._

_She could not believe it but she recognized the face as Jack's victim fell. As he withdrew the knife from her side, Stress dropped to her knees. Jack turned and ran. And the scene changed._

_The girl, Stress, she was dying. She could almost taste the bitterness of death as an old man – Kloppman – tried to clean the wound. Jack was not there but she could sense him. He was waiting on bated breath just outside. He was waiting to find out if she had died; to see if his handiwork had been worth it. And then the scene changed._

_The old man – it was a Kloppman, the one she had seen when she visited the lodging house in a past vision – approached Jack outside. No sound was to be heard but she felt it inside. The girl had died. The boy was vindicated. And then the scene changed._

_Her head began to whirl at the pace of the changing scenes. _Flash. _The boy was clutching a worn photograph. _Flash. _A group of boys sat in a bunk discussing something serious. _Flash. _A simple grave with only a wooden cross as a marker._ Flash. _Another girl – Sarah Jacobs – trying to speak to Jack – who had no interest._ Flash. _The boy was feeling guilty for what he had done. _Flash. _Jack was drinking from an unmarked flask. _Flash. _Kloppman had found him and was cradling his dead body to his chest. _Flash. _Jack Kelly was dead…_

When the demon's work had finally finished, and the dream played itself out, Diana sunk back into a deep sleep. Wrapped up tightly inside of her pink comforter, she did not have any other dreams that night.


	36. XXXVI

Author's Note: _Couple of things I want to get out of the way before the next chapter starts (woot). First of all, Happy New Year! Secondly, I hope everyone had a very happy holiday season and wish you all luck in 2007. I hope for you all to continue with me on this journey into the New Year. And that brings me to the third thing – instead of replying to the reviews, I thought I'd address it here, just in case... I kind of got the feeling that people are growing frustrated with this story. I know that it's incredibly long, but I really don't want people to think that it's being drawn out. It might seem a bit unbelievable that I know what I'm doing but, don't worry, I do. And I mean that in the nicest way I can. Once I really got into the story, I realized just how uber long (and detailed) it would be and, though I gave myself a month to work with, it would all be done long before the deadline came (one way or another). To say anything more I would give away the ending but please don't think that all your time invested in this story won't come to fruit. With the New Year, I plan on writing every week until this story is complete. It is about 65 percent done and everything from last chapter on is leading up to the conclusion. There are quite a few major questions that need to be answered – and will be. Trust me._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations:_ a Maldição de Diabo translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

December 31, 2006

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY SIX

--

Diana was disoriented when she woke up. There was no denying that. Her head felt heavy and there was a strange taste in her mouth. With her eyes still closed – she was awake but was struggling against staying that way; she was still tired and wanted to hold onto the slumber for as long as she could – the girl ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth, trying to banish the nastiness. When she could not, she reluctantly opened her eyes and climbed out of bed. _Maybe I'll feel better if I have a glass of water, _she mused as she rubbed her forehead, _and maybe an Advil or two to go with it._

She dared a glance at the silver watch on her left wrist and was surprised to see that it was well after eleven o'clock in the morning. Diana knew that her aunt would have already left the apartment hours ago but why hadn't she woken her up? For the second time, now, she had let the girl sleep late.

And what about Jack? His last words to her before he left Saturday afternoon had been: _Monday morning. Bright and early. _Well, she was not sure what bright and early meant to the ghost boy but, the way she saw it, it was nearly afternoon – and, yet, there had been no sign of him.

Not that she minded, of course. After having the last two evenings away from Jack, and that aura of urgency that seemed to follow him everywhere he went, she was not too eager to devote the morning to putting up with him – especially if he followed through on his mock threat and brought plenty of pictures with him. And, as she sluggishly made her way out of her bedroom and entered the hallway, she could not help but hear a strange buzzing in her head (that did nothing to help the heaviness she felt); it had started once her thoughts had turned towards Jack… almost as if her conscience was warning her to stay away from him.

Diana pushed that idea out of her head as she slipped into the empty bathroom. After her shower yesterday morning, her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she had snooped around her aunt's medicine cabinet. She knew that there was an economy size bottle of Advil inside there; maybe, once she had taken a couple of the aspirins, she would feel a bit better.

The pills tasted bitter on her tongue. Trying not to gag – the foul taste was not helping get rid of the disgusting savor out of the back of her throat – she hurriedly filled up one of the small Dixie cups that sat on the side of the bathroom counter. After turning off the tap, she tilted her head back and swallowed the pills, using the water as a transport. She made a noise, as if that bit of water quenched her thirst, and she tossed the spent plastic cup into the wastebasket.

_What do I do now?_

As far as Diana could tell, she was still alone. Mister Kloppman might be in the apartment but, as she had no need for the elderly butler, she did not worry about him. Really, the only person she was worrying about – and not worrying, per se, but wondering if he would choose to pop up once she climbed into the shower – was Jack.

Her green eyes slid from the open bathroom door to the shower stall and she knew that if she did not take the chance to shower now, she might not have the chance later. Besides, a nice hot shower might make her headache go away.

Sighing, Diana hurried back to her bedroom but stopped as soon as she had re-entered the room. Almost as soon as she had stepped foot in the room she had been hit with a rather stinky smell. She wondered how she had missed it when she woke up, it was that bad. She took a tentative sniff, trying to place it but gave up when the harshness of the odor seemed to burn the inside of her nose. _Phew_. Choosing to breathe in through her mouth rather than her nose, she continued to walk inside the bedroom.

Assuming that it had to be just one of the many _pleasant _aromas that comprised the City, she walked across the room and quickly began to rifle through the dresser drawers. She grabbed fresh underwear, another set of jean shorts and her favorite shirt. It was an orange one she got from Hershey Park, Pennsylvania; it advertised Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and, though it was worn with age, had a hole in the hem and her mother had tried to throw it away three times already, Diana loved it and had snuck it into her luggage. It was her lucky shirt and, when Jack finally turned up, she had the feeling that she would need it.

Her clothes held in her arms, Diana went back to the bathroom – a bit paranoid but, she knew, it would be a long time before she forgot what it was like to be caught with her towel down – and closed the door behind her. She locked it for good measure and set her clothes in the sink's basin. She placed one of the towels on top of the toilet seat so that it was in easy reach of the shower; that way, she could just wrap the towel around her before she stepped out of the stall.

_There. I'd like to see Jack try to sneak up on me now, _she thought as she hopped in the shower and began to strip. She conveniently forgot that he was a ghost and could, should he want to, get past the shower curtain quite easily.

--

Diana was feeling a bit better after she had showered – _no sign of Jack _– gotten dressed ­­– _still no sign of Jack _– and brushed her hair – _where the Hell is he? I'm not going to wait for him forever, you know…_ She left her curly hair down atop her shoulders as she placed her dirty laundry in the bathroom hamper (her mother had been horrified to learn that none of her clothing had been washed since she arrived; Ariadne insisted that she add it to the hamper's worth of wash that she sent out to be cleaned), only because she was too lazy to brush out the tangles and pull it into a bun. Though she felt better, she still felt weak and thought that the next solution should be to get something to eat.

The apartment was still and quiet as she walked barefoot towards Ariadne's kitchen. There was no sign of Kloppman but she assumed that he had just gone out of the building for an errand – as it was, her attention was now on her growling stomach and her growing appetite. She could worry about where he had gone after she had gotten something to eat.

Just like her last foray into the pristine kitchen, Diana did not feel up to waiting for anything to cook. Rather than come up with some elaborate meal to cook, she decided on having a small snack until her strength returned – maybe then she could find something heavier to sustain her until her aunt came home and they ate dinner.

She glanced about idly until her eyes fell on a bowl of fruit that was set up on one of the kitchen counters. One particularly shiny red apple stood out to her and she decided that that would make a good snack. However, as soon as her fingers closed around the piece of fruit, she paused. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up, her entire body tightened. She cocked her head slightly to the side, listening intently.

There it was again. It was a soft sound but it was a sound nonetheless – almost like hushed breathing. And it frightened her.

For some unknown reason, Diana had a flash in the back of her mind of someone undesirable approaching her from behind and wrapping his strong arms around her. She could not place when something like that could have ever happened to her but, all the same, the fear intensified… as did her grip on the apple. When she could not stand the tenseness of the situation any longer – she wanted to know who it was that was attempting to sneak up on her – Diana pivoted, bringing the apple with her. Almost as a slingshot, she let it fly, throwing the fruit with all the strength she could muster, without even seeing if someone was behind her first.

There _was _someone behind her – someone who was very surprised to see the apple being hurled at him. Jack Kelly had just enough time to go intangible; the apple soared right through his transparent form. His reflexes were quicker once tested and, as the apple passed through him, he brought his right hand (his left, she could see, was holding another package of pictures… _joy_) behind his back and caught it easily in a firm hand. As Diana gaped at him with a surprised expression, he brought the fruit to his lips and took a rather large bite. As he chewed, he nodded. "First a book, now an apple. When are you going to start greeting me like a person?" He swallowed the mouthful of chewed up pulp. "A simple 'hello, Jack' would do wonders, you know."

The fear she had experienced faded away almost at once, only to be replaced by annoyance. "I have an idea, Jack. I'll start treating you like… er… a _person_," she said, trying not to add that as a ghost, she did not think that he was really a person any more, "when you stop surprising me like that. Was that really necessary? You scared the crap out of me."

Whatever reaction she was expecting from her retort, the one that he gave was not it. She had thought he would grin cheekily – he did a lot of that, she knew – or fling a response right back at her – in a way, she had missed the banter she exchanged with him when her mother was visiting – but the look that crossed her face unnerved her. Though her experience with the ghost boy was limited, she had never seen him look so offended – as if her words struck far deeper than she was aware.

"I… frightened you?"

Diana felt bad. Her first instinct had been to say, "Well, duh, you have been dead for nearly a century," but she kept her tongue in check. She doubted that would make matters any better so, instead, she shook her head. "No, not really. I'm just a little _eh_ since the dream…" She let her words trail off. When she began the sentence she had been so sure that the strange way she was feeling, and her initial fearful reaction to Jack's presence, had been due to another dream, another vision, from the night before but now… she could not remember every having a dream last night. She shook her head again. "Never mind. I was just kidding, alright?"

As if the wounded expression had never been, Jack nodded, a handsome smile curving his face. "Alright," he agreed before biting back into the apple.

Diana watched as a bit of juice squirted out of the fruit and scowled slightly. "I was going to eat that."

"Oh." Jack looked from the girl to the half-eaten apple in his hand and back to Diana. He held it out towards her. "You want the rest?"

She snorted and waved her hand. "No, thanks. There's more over here." _Even if that was the one that I really wanted_, Diana thought to herself as she grabbed a second – and much less appealing to her eye – apple from the fruit bowl. She polished it against the front of her lucky shirt and, once it looked _nearly _as shiny as that first one, she turned back to Jack. She took a dainty bite and, after she had chewed and swallowed the first bit, she took a seat at the small kitchen table. "So, how have you been?"

The ghost boy, rather than join her by taking a seat at the table, floated upwards and, his legs folded underneath him, moved so that he was hovering over the table. "Good enough." He did not say anything further about that but, instead, held up the photographs that he had brought with him. "So, you ready to work yet, kid?"

"In a minute," she answered before taking another bite out of her apple. "I just want to finish my snack first."

Jack though it over for a moment and nodded. He dropped the packet onto the table – it landed with a muffled sound – and scratched his head. "As soon as you're done, then."

Diana pointed at the core that was now in his hand – though, how he ate the entire apple that fast, she had no idea – and looked interested. "Hey, Jack, I don't get it. You're dead and all… why do you need to eat?"

"Why not?" Jack glanced down at the apple core and shrugged his shoulder. He snapped the fingers on his left hand – the apple disappeared entirely – and rubbed them against his faded pants. "It's like sleep in a way. As a ghost, I don't _have _to do it but I can if I want to. Kind of lets me pretend that I'm not _dead _dead."

She nodded her understanding. "I guess I never thought of it that way."

Jack snorted. "Do you think at all?"

"Funny, Jack. Very funny," Diana said dryly. _If that's how he's going to act, _she thought to herself as she finished up her snack, _then I'm not going to ask him any questions. See how he likes it, not getting the chance to be a smart ass. _Once the apple was as bare as Jack's had been, she pulled her chair away from the table. Because she did not have the luxury of ghost powers, she walked over to the garbage can at the other end of the kitchen and made to toss her core away; she rolled her eyes when she saw that Jack's was already in the bin before adding hers. _I wondered where he had vanished his trash away to. Now I know._

Keeping her back to the ghost boy – she could feel him watching her; he was antsy, she could tell, and wanted to get started – she grabbed a clean glass from one of the cabinets and brought it over to the stainless steel refrigerator. Purposely taking her time, Diana opened the fridge and looked at each of the beverages Ariadne had to offer. It was only when an exaggerated sigh came from behind her that she chose the milk and poured herself a glass. She set the gallon of milk back in the refrigerator and faced Jack. "Alright, Mr. Impatience. I'm ready."

Jack leaned over – while still floating, his legs crossed now – and looped his forefinger underneath the twine. Once he had his pictures in his hold, he smirked. "Where do you want to do this?"

The girl made a face at the thought of dealing with another slew of Jack's hand-picked photographs but, quite unlike her, chose to keep her mouth shut about it. _I should just be glad that I had two days free from him. And, at least, he's warning me that he has pictures. It's not like he's going to surprise me by shoving them under my nose… _"Well, if you insist, I think my room would be best. Let's… go?"

Diana sighed. Before she had even finished speaking, the boy was gone. With one of his standard _pop_'s, he had vanished. "Thanks for waiting for me, Jack," she mumbled, heading out of the kitchen. She paused in the hallway, took a sip from her glass, and started to head back to her bedroom. She did stop a second time, just outside of the closed door that she knew led to Mister Kloppman's room but, when she could not hear anything coming from inside – _I guess he did leave for the afternoon _– she continued on her way back.

She had assumed that, by the time she had walked back, she would find Jack making himself comfortable in her room – perhaps even stretched out on her bed, a superior smirk on his face. However, that was not what she found at all.

Just as she walked through the doorway, she was met with Jack staring at her. He was standing just by her bad – his feet, for once, firmly on the floor – his hands crossed over his chest. His eyes were dark and his brow was furrowed. For the first time since she had met him, he looked frightening.

She stopped at once. Like the terror that had overcome her in the kitchen – the terror brought on by the memory of an unknown person holding tightly onto her – Diana was scared. Scared of Jack. In the back of her mind, she remembered a hazy scene where Jack stood, a knife in his hand, emanating malice over a smaller form. She banished the thought; the ghost of the present demanded her attention, not the boy of the past.

"Jack?"

He barely moved his head. His mouth opened a bit and, when he spoke, the words sounded almost threatening. "Don't play any games with me, Diana, because I'm not playing around right now. This is serious, alright?" He waited for her to acknowledge him – she just nodded, confused – before finishing his statement. "Good. Now that we're clear, I want you to tell my why this room reaks of brimstone and I want you to tell me right now."

_Brimstone?_ _What?_


	37. XXXVII

Author's Note: _I really really meant to have this done for Sunday. In fact, it was almost finished by then… but then I got sidetracked and yeah… but it's done now, yay. And, aren't you all excited – this is officially the beginning of the end. Of course, that doesn't mean that it's finishing soon… just that I finally have everything set up to start to solve the mystery. No more than 10 chapters after this, tops **(2.14.07****,okay - that's a lie. There will be 58-60 chapters total. So yeah...)** And I'm sorry about last week's cliffhanger – I didn't think it was that bad. This week should be a bit better, so, woot. Enjoy!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations:_ a Maldição de Diabo translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

January 9, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY SEVEN

--

The girl shook her head. She had the insane notion to put up her hands, to cover herself as if she needed protection from the ghost – who was definitely suffering from mood swings – but she kept her composure. If there was one thing that Diana did not want to do, it was look weak in front of a century dead ghost boy. "What the hell are you talking about, Jack? I don't get it."

He did not look like he believed her. His mouth was set and he snorted. "Do I _look_ like a complete idiot to you?"

The words were out before she knew it. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Diana was not sure but she could have sworn that Jack's response to her off-handed comment was to growl under his breath. She adopted her own defensive stance, her hands on her hips, and stared back at Jack. She was not about to let him intimidate her like this. After all, she had already devoted four days to thinking about Jack's mystery – she was helping _him_. He had no need to take an attitude with her.

He did look angry, though. She sighed. It would do no good if the two of them started arguing so early in the day. "Listen, Jack. You don't want me to play games with you? Fine. But don't get all hot and bothered. I have no clue as to what you're pissed off about."

"Brimstone," he snapped. When she looked confused, he closed his eyes and took a breath. Of course, being dead, the breath was unnecessary but it was needed. His nonexistent heart was beating triple-time as Jack felt the lingering affects of the black magic that hung around the room. He knew what the acrid scent of brimstone meant; that was not what was bothering him. It was the fact that it was in her bedroom. It was important that he know why – and how. "Take a sniff, kid."

Though she resented being treated like that – maybe she did not miss her and Jack's banter as much as she initially thought – Diana did what he told her to do. She breathed in deeply through her nose and coughed violently when she got a strong whiff of that horrid smell. It seemed to be as strong as it was when she returned to the room before her shower and she mentally kicked herself. She should have opened the window in order to air it out (of course, if the stench was coming from the outside, then that really would not work); however, that did not explain what Jack was going on about.

When the coughs had subsides, she looked back at Jack. "Yeah," she said, her throat a little sore from the cough attack. "It reeks in here. What of it?"

A glimmer of a smirk pulled on his lips, making him appear to be less intimidating than before. In fact, he seemed almost satisfied that his instructions had led her to choke on the pungent fumes that still filled the room. "That's the brimstone." He unfolded his arms and set them down by his legs. "Now, you want to tell me why it smells like that in here?"

_Is that what he was freaking out about? Because this room stinks? Damn it, he got me nervous there for a second… _She shrugged. "I don't know. I woke up this morning and the stink was there. It probably slipped in through a crack in the window. I don't see why you're so worked up about it, Jack."

"You're telling me that you have no idea as to what this smell is? That you ain't familiar with brimstone?" Jack sounded as if he did not believe her. After the first time he ever came in contact with the bitter scent, he had never forgotten it… but Diana seemed as if did not bother her (except for just being really smelly). He seemed to calm down; at the very least, he did not glare at her as if he was about to pounce.

Diana waved her hand in front of her nose, trying to dispel the odor. "Basically. Am I _supposed_ to be familiar with this… er… brimstone of yours?"

He did not answer her question. Instead, he ran one of his hands through his shaggy brown hair and sighed. "So, you're still telling me that you have no clue what it's doing here? Or what it means?" He was not sure if he was buying her excuse or not. She _looked_ like she had no idea as to why the scent of brimstone was hovering about her room - but maybe she was a good actress. Besides, he had only known her for a few days. Why should he believe anything she said?

She shook her head. "Like I said, am I supposed to?"

Jack absently ran one of his hands through his hair again; it was a nervous habit he had never lost. On the one hand, he felt that he really did believe her, even though he had nothing more to believe than her word - though that might be only because she looked so much like the other girls... so much like _her_, even. And they had never lied to him.

But, on the other hand, something was not sitting right with him. This was the first time that he had been accosted by the memorable scent of brimstone without first seeing the creature that brought the stench. _She doesn't know what it means… do I even? _This was getting too strange, even for him. He needed help – and there was only one place he could get it.Jack exhaled sharply and pointed at the door. "Is Kloppman out there?"

Diana had forgotten about Jack's strange relationship with her aunt's butler. Vaguely, she recalled that she wanted to find out just how they knew each other but, somehow, that thought had slipped her mind until that very moment; she would have to look into that later – she obviously could not do that now. Or could she… _Maybe I can get Jack to tell me how Mr. Kloppman can see him_, she thought. She looked at Jack, still standing beside her bed, and narrowed her eyes. "What for?"

"Because he can help me figure something out. Is he there or not?"

_I'm not going to get any information out of him in such a mood. Stupid ghost. _"No, Mr. Kloppman's not here, if you need to know. I haven't seen him all morning. He must have gone out on an errand or something for my aunt." As soon as the words were out, Diana remembered once again what Stress had told her about Jack and Ariadne. When he stopped acting so strange, that would have to be something else that Diana asked him. Though, at the rate she was going, she would have a huge list of questions before then.

Jack flinched just a bit – hardly enough to be noticeable except for that fact that Diana was watching him intently and caught the minute action – before shaking his head royally. Well, as royally as a dead orphan from the early 20th century could do. "Kloppman can't leave this building," he admitted. He had not really meant to tell Diana that but he only realized that after the words were out. _Oh, well… "_Besides, if anyone can help me figure this out, it's him. I'm gonna just have to call for him."

"Figure what out?" Diana was getting confused – even more so than before. It was as if Jack was speaking in riddles to her… and all because he recognized whatever it was that was making her bedroom stink (though, the longer she stood there, the more used to the stink she was getting). She was beginning to think that maybe _this _was all just part of a dream – it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between the times when she was asleep and when she was awake.

Just to make sure, she reached her right hand over her chest and pinched her left forearm. "Ouch." _Okay, there goes the theory that I'm sleeping cause, damn, that hurt. I guess Jack really did finally lose it… What _did _he do these last two days? I mean, he wasn't this crazy when I made him leave on Saturday._

Like before, Jack chose to not answer her question – though he did look at her with a strange expression when she pinched herself for no apparent reason; instead, he stood there, quietly. Diana was trying to figure out just what he was doing when he opened his mouth wide and started to speak. Not talk loudly, not yell for the butler but, rather, speak calmly as if he was in the room with them.

"Kloppy. I need you right now. It's important."

The girl coughed. It was quite unlike her earlier fit – this cough was done just to get his attention. "Uh, Jack? You do know that I told you that Mr. Kloppman isn't here, right?"

To her surprise, Jack ignored her. And he did not just ignore her, he _ignored _her; the way he did not pay her a second glance reminded her of how her mother and father would act when she was younger and they were discussing something that was deemed inappropriate for her. She hated it then – she hated it even more now.

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot and demand his attention. It was strange – mere moments ago, she would have been glad that he was not bothering her. But, now that she was trying to figure out what he was doing, it was upsetting her that he was blatantly ignoring her. "Jack!"

That's when she heard it. The front door of her aunt's apartment had opened and closed again. Someone had entered the apartment and, from the sound of rather light footsteps, Diana could tell that they were heading down the main hallway.

_If that's Mr. Kloppman, this is either one really big coincidence or something even freakier than I thought is going on. And, considering I've been cool with hanging out with a dead boy and – surprise – some dead chick is totally residing inside me, that's saying something. Just _what _the hell is going on right now?_

Jack did not look in the least surprised that the door had opened. In fact, he was impatiently tapping his shoe against the floor of Diana's bedroom, as if he was waiting for whoever it was to come to him. He did, however, spare a glance towards Diana. The girl was still standing in the doorway of the bedroom; with a hurried wave of his hand – it was a free hand, since the packet of photographs was resting on top of her bed – he gestured for her to wait inside of the room.

She could not figure why it was so important that she enter the room but she did what she was told. She did not get any closer to the ghost boy, though – she had not forgotten how he had frightened her, only moments ago; instead, she scooted inwards and kept her back to the wall. Just in case.

Whether Jack had been expecting the visitor or not, said visitor knew exactly where he was going. Not too much longer after they had heard that door open and close, a man's head poked into the, now unoccupied, doorway. His eyes were a bit glazed but that could have been because they were partially hidden by a pair of eyeglasses that were resting cockeyed on his nose. Wherever he had been, he had hurried to get where he was going. "Cowboy. You called for me?"

It was Alfred Kloppman. A million and one questions popped up in Diana's mind – the most important one clamoring for her attention was: _how the hell did he know that the ghost boy was calling for him? _– but she could not find the voice with which to pose them. Instead, she stood there, her mouth slightly agape, looking very much like a surprised fish.

Neither Jack nor Kloppman seemed to pay her any mind at that moment. Kloppman was looking confused that Jack had called for him while being in Diana's room; Jack was itching to ask Kloppman about what was going on. There was no time to fill the fourth generation Daite girl in on anything just then.

"Yeah, Kloppy. Here, smell."

If the elderly butler thought there was anything strange about Jack's request – _how could he? I mean, he's taking orders from a dead boy… what could be weirder than that? _– he did not show it. He just used one of his wrinkled old fingers to settle his glasses before breathing in deeply.

Kloppman had not taken but half of that breath before his eyes widened behind the glass. Jack looked vindicated. "Jack. Brimstone?"

Jack touched his nose. "You got it, Kloppy."

"But… how? I mean… here? What was he doing in here with Miss Mason?"

Before Jack could answer that question – which would have been interesting, considering Jack had no idea himself – he was interrupted.

"Hold on a second."

Diana held out both of her hands, drawing some of the attention over to her. "I don't get it. The two of you seem to think that this strange ass smell means something but no one's telling me anything. Seeing as this is _my _room and I've been pretty cool with this so far, I think someone owes me an explanation! Who was in my room?" She was a little flushed by the end of her outburst but she was glaring so fiercely that she had taken on the air of malice that had formerly surrounded Jack.

The boy, however, did not seem intimidated by her at all. With a humorous smirk on his face – he was glad that Kloppman had proven his point without really saying anything – he searched his pockets. Patting down the sides of his trousers, he found what he was looking for in the right side and drew it out. It was a cigarette, slightly creased and folded; he placed it in his mouth but did not light it. Instead, his lips curving around the cigarette, he nodded.

"Oscar Delancey has been here, Diana. And, as you can smell, that scab has a tendency to linger."

--

For the first time that morning, Ariadne took a deep breath and relaxed in her office chair. It had been a very hectic start to the day, with countless phone calls to make and receive; it was only now, at ten after noon, that she had the chance to take a second for herself.

She lifted her beige mug to her lips and finished off her third cup of coffee. Knowing that the day had only really started, the woman leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on her phone. "Rachel?"

Her secretary's voice returned the page. "Yes, Ms. Cearr?"

"Whenever you have the chance," she began, setting her empty mug at the edge of her pristine desk, "could you bring me another cup of coffee?" She felt bad about bothering the young girl – this would be the fourth time she asked her for more coffee – but the coffee machine _was_ on a dolly right next to Rachel's desk.

Another crackle of static before she heard the response. "Of course, Ms. Cearr. I'll be right there."

"Thanks, Rae," Ariadne said before removing on her manicured fingers from the button. She sighed and thought about what she should do right then. She had a very important meeting at twelve thirty, but, until then, she was free. She had already finished off a ham sandwich from a local deli during one of her more boring phone calls – therefore, lunch was not necessary. She would be perfectly content with another cup of coffee.

Thinking about phone calls, Ariadne knew what she should do. Just like she had done on Friday, she thought it might be nice to check up on her niece and make sure that she was doing all right. Though she and Diana had only had one conversation about that blasted demon boy – and Diana seemed to believe everything that her aunt had told her about him – Ariadne was sure that Diana was still thinking about working with him.

It unnerved her that she had unwittingly allowed Diana to get roped into this whole curse business and she had been trying to correct that ever since she was certain that Jack had made contact with her. She had given Diana the 'Fate' box and even implored Alfred to tell the girl about what a menace and a liar that Jack Kelly was; when she was not sure that those measures had worked, she had gone ahead and invited Diana's mother to stay for the weekend.

Though Arianrhod was suspicious in regards to her unsuspected invitation, her twin sister had visited all the same. With Diana in their sight for Saturday evening and all of Sunday, Ariadne was aware that she was keeping the girl out of Jack's grasp. But what now, now that she was at work and Diana was alone?

Making up her mind that she should call and check up on Diana, Ariadne reached for the black phone. She had not gotten further than dialing the area code for her niece's new cell phone before the front door to her office opened. "Thanks, R—" she began but caught herself. It was not her secretary that was bringing her another cup of coffee.

It was Tony Higgins.


	38. XXXVIII

Author's Note: _Happy National Newsies Day everyone! Here's the next chapter – and it's really beginning to start answering the questions. I have so much fun with the dialogue between Jack and Kloppman so, yeah, this is probably one of my favorite chapters. I hope you guys feel the same. And the scene with Diana, yay. Not to mention Tony… gah. Go ahead and read. You'll like it. _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

January 15, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY EIGHT

--

Diana let Jack's words sink in before shaking her head fervently. "What? I mean, are you kidding me?"

"I wish I was," he said, drawing the unlit cigarette from his mouth and keeping it between his middle and forefingers of his right hand. "But I know this smell. You had some company last night, kid, and it weren't the good kind."

She opened her mouth to deny Jack's claims – or, at least, ask him to explain his reasoning even further – but, before she could get any words out, she remembered something. It was quite vague, fuzzy at best, and she only held onto it for a few seconds before it was gone, slipping through her consciousness like sand through a sieve.

_She was not alone. She was staring up at a young man who wore faded brown slacks, a grey button-down shirt, and a darker colored vest. There was a black bowler hat atop his head that kept his short, dark hair hidden from view. He was glaring down at her, a small, evil grin detailing the wickedness of his features.._

"_Who are you?"_

"_I am whoever you want me to be, Diana."_

_The words echoed through her head. And she shivered._

"Miss Mason, are you all right?" Kloppman asked, concerned. The young girl had started to speak but, before she started to reply, her eyes went blank and she shivered violently, though there was no sign of a chill.

Diana blinked once, then twice. It was almost as if she had blacked out for a few seconds; she could not remember what had just happened – there was a momentary barrier in her mind preventing her from recalling anything other than what Jack had told her. "Yeah… I'm fine. I'm just a little confused. You see," she began as she nervously ran her fingers through her now-dry curls, "I was alone last night. Nobody else was in this room but me."

_That's not true, Diana._

"Yes it is," Diana said defensively, glaring at both the elderly butler and the ghost boy. It bothered her that one of them had the nerve to contradict her. "Why would I lie about something like that? I stayed up with Aunt Ria and ate ice cream before going to bed. I was alone… and, wait a second…" she said, as an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach began to grow. As soon as she had started to assert her answer, Kloppman and Jack had shared a look before turning back and staring at her in confusion. She only just realized that the voice she heard was not male but, instead, female. And very close by. "You guys didn't tell me that I was lying, did you?"

Jack shook his head. "I mean, you've got to be lying since I can still smell Delancey's stink but I didn't get a chance to say it."

"He's right, Miss Mason. Neither of us said anything at all. Are you sure that you are all right?" Kloppman was much gentler than Jack – and more patient (though, if one had to live to be one hundred and seventy five years old, that's pretty much a given).

"I… I think so." Diana covered her face with her hands for a moment. Just when she thought that things could not get any weirder, all this happens. If she had known that, when she woke up that morning, Jack would all but turn on her, Kloppman would answer a quiet summons, she would be told that some guy was in her room (without her knowing) and she would hear voices again… well, maybe she would have just stayed under the covers instead. "But I'm telling the truth. I didn't see anyone in here last night."

Oscar's black magic was holding tight onto her memories. He kept his presence masked from her, as well as the vision she had seen of Les and Rhiannon Jacobs. However, there was one thing that the demon had not reckoned on when he assaulted Diana's subconscious the night before. And that something was well rested and ready to help fight him.

_Diana, you were not alone last night._

The girl heard the voice again and, though it – and the message it gave – frightened her, she did not show it on her face. It was one thing to be having a civil (or not-so-civil) conversation with a ghost. She could handle that. She was just not so sure she could handle hearing voices coming from inside of her, too.

_I want you to go to the bathroom. Make your excuses – Jack and Kloppy can't know about me. I'll explain everything to you then._

Though she was well aware of the way that both of the two men were staring at her – maybe she was not doing as good a job concealing her emotions as she thought – Diana nodded to herself. If the voice inside of her was promising an explanation, she was willing to go anywhere to hear it. She was even prepared to gloss over the fact that the voice referred to Alfred Kloppman with the same nickname that Jack felt inclined to call him.

"Listen, I – I have to go to the bathroom," she blurted out, not really all that good with the tact. She could see her unexpected outburst made Kloppman embarrassed, and made Jack smirk, and groaned inwardly. This was _definitely _not the way she thought the day would go; at this point, she would almost fancy a round with Jack's stack of photographs.

Jack waved the hand that still held the unlit cigarette. "Go right ahead. Just don't take forever – we still have a bunch to talk about. Like what Oscar was doing in your room."

With a faux smile on her face, she bowed her head. "Sure thing, Jack. I won't be long, promise." And, as quickly as she could escape the bedroom, she made her way to the bathroom. She wanted some answers.

--

Ariadne stood up from her desk, a true smile of delight on her face. "Tony? What are you doing here? I thought you were going out of town this week."

The short, dark haired man, clad in his dark Armani suit, strode into the office with an air of importance, though his smile was quite the friendly one. He sat the steaming cup of Starbucks coffee down on the corner of her desk before leaning in to give her a kiss. It was a chaste kiss, pressed gently on her lips, but, when he stepped back he could see a bit of color staining her fair cheeks.

He laughed and rubbed her left cheek with his hand before taking one of the leather chairs opposite of her desk. "I was supposed to but, at the last moment, my boss decided that it was prudent that I remain in the City this week. It seems it his goal to complete an acquisition as soon as possible and, though he has another partner working on the deal, he needs me to be on hand and do my part if necessary."

Ariadne was glad to hear that. She had enjoyed her time at the theatre with Tony on Saturday night and felt that she had garnered the approval of both her sister and her niece. It was very important to her that her family liked him before she furthered their relationship. After all, she had only known him for a few months.

"It's good to see you, then, Tony."

"I could say the same, Ria. I thought I would have to wait a whole other week to see you again," he said, quite suavely, before gesturing to the coffee cup. "Come now, drink up. As soon as I heard that I wasn't going away this week, I stopped at the closest Starbucks and picked you up a gift. Black, just a bit of sugar. Just the way you like it."

It amused her that Tony knew her tastes better than her identical twin sister. She lifted the cup up to her lips and blew on the top, sending the steam wafting in his direction. "Do you know how much I like you?"

"About as half as much as I like you?" he offered back, his dark eyes beaming as he winked over at her. "Did you have fun Saturday night?"

Ariadne nodded as she took a delicate sip of her coffee. Once she had swallowed, she answered him. "Very much, Tony. You must pass my compliments onto that friend of yours. The film was quite… entertaining."

"That it was, Ria. Who would have ever thought that a movie about seeing ghosts would be so fascinating?" Tony chuckled and stood up from his seat. He walked forward and placed his hand out. He waited until she had followed his lead and placed her small hand in his to continue speaking. "The only thing I regret is that we did not get to see each other after it ended."

She felt a bit embarrassed at his words. "I'm so sorry, Tony, but my niece was feeling ill. She didn't want to go out to eat so we just returned home for the evening."

"Well, I hope your Diana feels better then."

Ariadne nodded, her face flushing at his prolonged contact. Whenever she was around this man, she felt like a young schoolgirl with a crush. "She does."

Tony squeezed her hand. "I'm glad. In that case, I would like to see you again." Before she could say anything, he continued. "I know you are watching your niece this summer, and she's only just arrived, so why don't the three of us meet at your place for dinner? If you don't want to cook, I can bring something with me."

She was taken aback at the directness of his request. After all of the few, brief dates they had shared, neither of them had set foot into the other's apartment. She was a little hesitant to agree without asking Diana first; he was right – the girl was her charge for the summer. Would it be fair to invite Tony over and impede on the time they had together?

However, she did not get the chance to give him an answer right away. Just before she could respond, there was a crackle and there cozy (and confused) moment was interrupted by Rachel's voice. "Ms. Cearr?"

Ariadne took her hand back gingerly and pressed the intercom button on the phone. "Yes, Rachel?"

"Mister Fletcher just buzzed up to remind you that your meeting starts in ten minutes."

With Tony's arrival into her office, she had forgotten entirely about the meeting. "Thanks, Rae. You can tell him that I will be right down in the conference room."

"Right away, Ms. Cearr."

Tony watched as she made the exchange with her secretary. When the girl on the other side of the intercom finished her end of the conversation, he looked back at Ariadne. He did not say a words but his hopeful expression repeated his earlier request.

Ariadne lifted her finger off of the intercom and smiled apologetically at Tony. "I have to go. But I guess I'll see you tomorrow…" She let her voice trail. She was still not entirely sure how Tony had exacted an invitation from her for dinner. Not that she minded, of course; in a way, she was actually looking forward to the meal. She just hoped that Diana would not mind.

He leaned in again and left a second kiss on her cheek. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

--

Kloppman waited until he heard the closing of the bathroom door down the hall before turning to look at Jack. "What do you think that was about, Cowboy?"

"I ain't too sure, Kloppy," he replied before lifting his cigarette upwards to his mouth. He placed the tip to his lips and blew once. By channeling the essence of the black magic of Hell that Oscar had unwillingly left behind, he was able to incinerate the cigarette without even striking a match. He had been waiting for the girl to either turn away or leave the room before doing that; he did not want to explain, just then, that her late night visitor had been one of the Devil's own servants. "But something don't smell right about this… and I don't just mean Oscar's odor."

The old man nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose. He took a moment to push them back up. "I don't get it, Jack. There's never been a sign of the Delancey boy this early before. The fourth generation girl has only just arrived."

"Yeah, well, maybe it's because of the deadline, eh?" Jack asked, taking a drag off of his cigarette. All of this talk about Oscar was unnerving him; it just kept returning his mind to the demon's offer. But, of course, Kloppman did not know about that. With everything that had happened these last few days, Jack had never had the chance to tell him about anything (including Les's damn book.)

Kloppman, after over a century of knowing Jack, and watching out for him, could always tell when the boy was keeping something from him. He cleared his throat and watched as Jack winced – he knew what was coming. "Jack, you told me the other day that Oscar visited you but you never told me precisely why. Do you think that this might have something to do with Miss Mason's unexpected visitor last night?"

The boy choked, but it was not because of the smoke. He had not expected Kloppman to be so astute. "I told you. It's because I broke one of the rules by saying her name. That was it," he lied, trying to cover his own ass. After Oscar had left that night, Jack had wanted nothing more than to tell Kloppman about the Devil's proposition but, now that he was actually considering accepting the one-sided deal, he did not want Kloppman to know.

Kloppman looked down the edge of his nose, his eyebrows raised. "Boy, you think you can lie to everyone around you but you can't lie to me," he said, the pleasant servile voice gone; in its place came the hardened voice of a man who has seen too much. This was the voice that Jack remembered on the nights that he had been caught trying to sneak back into the lodging house. "I know when you're lying."

_I should have known_, Jack thought. He sighed and flicked the ashes of his cigarette onto the floor of Diana's room. "You always could see right through us, Kloppy."

"Comes with a lifetime of watching young boys," he agreed. "So, you want to tell me what Oscar really said?"

With his left hand, Jack rubbed his forehead. Just like playing with his hair, it was another nervous habit. "Fine. Oscar came to me and told me that the God damn Devil decided to change the stakes. It seems he don't want _her _anymore – wants this girl instead." He dropped his hand and scowled. "So either I hand over Diana and _she _goes free or all of us go to Hell. Not to mention he thought it'd be funny to cut the time in half. We don't got two months anymore. We got just the one."

Kloppman let out a long breath. That was not what he was expecting though, really, he should have been. The Devil was not known for playing fair. "What happens if you and Miss Mason find the answer, Jack? There's still time." He tried to sound supportive and was fairly successful.

"Yeah, _if _we figure it out," Jack said, exchanging his scowl for a low laugh. As supportive as Kloppman attempted to sound, he could see that Jack was having a hard time believing he meant the words. "_If _we figure it out, with the bit of time we got left, then the original terms stand. We all are free. But, come on, Kloppy… do you really think it's gonna happen with only a month left?"

"You have to try."

Jack stuck his cigarette back in his mouth and turned around. He walked over to the bed and scooped up the pictures that were resting in the center. Once they were in his hand, he turned around and waved them. Speaking around his cigarette, he said, "Oh, I plan on trying. What I didn't plan on was coming into this here room and being hit with Delancey's brimstone stink."

The old man removed his glasses and rubbed his watery eyes. There was so much going on – so much at stake – and, after nearly a century of living with the Devil's Curse, it seemed to all be coming to a head right now. The three other generations of Daite girls had all been predictable and similar (with the obvious exception of the Cearr twins), but Diana Mason was different in so many ways.

His eyes still closed, Kloppman thought back to Saturday afternoon, when he entered this room only to find the girl… asleep, or something very closely resembling sleep, with the singular exception that her eyes were wide and staring. She had looked so much like Stress that day, much more than any of the other girls had. Briefly, he wondered if he should mention this to Jack before deciding immediately against the idea. The specter was upset enough as it was, what with Oscar's unexplained presence and the shortened deadline; he did not want to cause him any more worries.

Instead, he opened his eyes and re-donned his glasses. "How do you think Oscar got here?" he asked, sounding very tired all of a sudden.

"The better question is _why _do you think Oscar was here?" Jack said before snapping his fingers and vanishing away the spent cigarette. Normally he did not like to show off too much around Kloppman but, the more he stood in this room, the antsier he was getting. Besides, he was annoyed that the cigarette did not have the calming effect that he had been after. "She didn't seem to know that he was here. What did he do to her? I mean, I already know that the Devil's got his eye on her for some reason. Could that be why he was here?"

Kloppman wished he had the answer for Jack. "I don't know. The only one who would know that is Miss Mason but she seems a little… confused at the moment."

"Yeah," Jack answered, preoccupied. "Hey, Kloppy? She went to the bathroom. Do you think I should—"

"No." Kloppman, thinking back to the debacle from the other morning, shook his head before Jack had even finished his sentence.

Jack smirked. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"No. And I don't want to. You and me are going to wait right here until that child comes back. Only she has the answers we need and I will not have you angering her again," Kloppman said, almost scolding the boy. "Besides, you've already caused me greater grief today and we don't need to add anymore."

"What do you mean by that?"

Kloppman lifted his weathered hand and folded it so that his pointer finger was extended. He wagged it at Jack. "Oh don't play innocent with me, boy. How do you plan on explaining to that girl how I was able to hear your call and come right to you if I'm supposed to be just her aunt's ordinary old butler?"

_Whoops._ Jack lifted his hand up and placed it on his neck. He looked extremely guilty. "Yeah, about that. We might have to explain why you can't leave the building either. It… uh… kind of slipped out when I was looking for you."

The old man just shook his head. Almost one hundred years of keeping the secret and _now_ Jack decided to let it slip. _Wonderful._

--

Diana hurried into the bathroom and made sure to close the door behind her. Out of a newfound habit, she locked the door before speaking aloud into the empty room. "Okay, someone needs to start talking right now." She felt awfully silly speaking out loud to herself but, she figured, if someone she could not see could speak to her, then it was only fair that she talk back. Besides, silly went out the window the moment she exited Patrick Conlon's cab the first time and met Jack Kelly.

_Turn around, Diana. _

The voice was still coming from inside of her but it sounded much less clear than before. Nevertheless, she did what she was told. Diana spun around and came face to face with the mirror that hung over the bathroom sink. She was quite accustomed with this mirror, having stared into it every time she had gone into that room during her stay in her Aunt Ria's apartment; however, this time, it was different

This time, when she stared into the mirror, someone else was definitely staring back.


	39. XXXIX

Author's Note: _Sorry about the delay, guy. What with being lazy this weekend and then my Mom getting sick, I just did not have the time or effort to put towards this chapter. However, I woke up this morning and vowed that I would get it done – and I did, yay :) And guess what? I answered questions. Aren't you proud of me? You should be – this is the most information toward the plot's conclusion that I have offered up so far. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

January 25, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART THIRTY NINE

--

She tried her hardest not to scream. It was one thing to look in the mirror and see something a little different – maybe your hairstyle was new or your make-up was changed – but it was another thing entirely to see a face that was not your's staring back at you. Even if it was a face that was similarly structured to your own… and one you recognized, at that. In fact, as Diana stared into the mirror, only to have the girl stare unblinkingly back, she reasoned that it was probably worse to find a face you recognized trapped within the mirror's glass.

Diana glared at the reflective glass, slightly in awe of what she was seeing. There was a bit of irrational – well, rational, really – terror rising up as she made eye contact with a reflection that was not her own. "Hello?" she squeaked, her voice much higher than normal.

When the girl in the mirror did nothing but continue to stare at her, Diana took the opportunity to turn her head to her left. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could, shook her head a few times, and turned back so that she was facing the mirror. Hesitantly, she opened one of her eyes. No dice – the image had not changed. And, to make matters all the stranger to Diana's mind, there was not a single hint hidden in the glass to her existence; it was as if Diana was not there.

That was not to say, of course, that the glass only showed the figure of the long dead girl. Surrounding her pale form, Diana could see the backwards image of the bathroom's porcelain toilet and fancy toiletries rack. It was just that, where Diana should be, she was not; Stress was instead.

There was no denying it. The face she was staring at was of a more oval shape, when compared to the more round-ish form Diana knew, and her eyes had a much more golden hue to them, so unlike the green eyes that normally gazed back from the glass. And, while her brown hair was as curly as Diana's was, the mirror girl's tresses were just wild… untamed. There was no better way to describe it.

Diana blinked. "Stress? Is that you… in my mirror?" Though the words were posed as a question, there was an almost resigned quality to her voice; it was as if she saw the dead girl's image and, without even _really _questioning it – in order to question the appearance of Stress in the glass, she would have to question her own sanity – she accepted it. She really did not see how she had any other choices.

"I'm glad to see you got that out of your system, Diana." She sounded frustrated but there was an undeniable touch of amusement hidden in her tone.

But Diana was not listening to _how _the girl spoke; it was more a matter that she was speaking at all. "You can… talk?"

"Of course I can talk. Don't you remember that nice long chat we had the other night?" Stress paused and Diana could not help but think that, if she had a body that went past the upper portion of her white-robed torso, the girl would be tapping her foot in annoyance. "Besides, who did you think it was that was talking to you just now?"

"Quite honestly," Diana retorted, "I thought I was going crazy… it had to happen sooner or later, I figure… and it would just be easier to humor my delusions." She crossed her arms over her chest – it only affirmed the utter strangness of the situation when Stress left her arms at her side. "And, _besides_," she added, almost spitefully mocking Stress's manner of speech, "what are you doing talking to me anyhow? You told me that you didn't have the strength or something to do nothing but give me nightmares."

Stress did not like the tone of voice that Diana had adopted. Really, just because she was dead and no longer had a physical body of her own, was that a good reason for the fourth generation girl to be so rude? She huffed. "Well, I'm sorry if I found out that I could do more than I first thought. I've never been a full-fledged spirit before, you know. I'm kind of winging it here."

Diana, without even knowing why, began to feel guilty for giving the dead girl an attitude. Sighing, she thought it would be best to apologize; somehow, she thought it might not be the best idea to upset a spirit – especially one that was, as hard as it was to believe, part of her. "I'm sorry," she said, the fact that she was apologizing to an image in a mirror, though, not going by unnoticed, "but I'm not used to looking in a mirror and not seeing my reflection. And I'm definitely not used to seeing a different reflection talk back."

Stress shrugged. "Hey, I'm inside of you, Diana. How else did you want to talk? I got the feeling that you weren't too keen on me speaking right to your mind – and I couldn't wait for nighttime again to get you while your body rested. It would have been too late."

_Too late?_ _Too late for what? _She held up her hand. "Wait a minute. Too late? Why too late?" She did not like the way that Stress had said that. "What is going on here?"

Stress frowned and bowed her head a bit. The thick mane of tangled curls fell forward, nearly covering her eyes from view. She shook her head slowly, as if she did not want to tell Diana what she knew; just then, Diana was not entirely sure she wanted to know. "Diana, Jack and Kloppman… they were right. Oscar… well, he was in your room last night and—"

_Huh? _She was right. She did not want to know. "Who is this Oscar that everyone keeps talking about?" she asked, interrupting the girl in the mirror. "And how you know about this when I don't?"

Stress had never been one for being interrupted but, considering the extreme circumstances, she thought she could forgive Diana just this once. She knew that if the roles had been reversed, if it was Diana speaking to her from inside a mirror, proclaiming to be a part of _her_… well, she would have grabbed the first heavy object she could find and smashed the cursed mirror into a million pieces. Surprisingly, the girl was taking this whole ghost-thing much better than any of her predecessors; however, that did not mean that she was going to be alright with learning that Oscar Delancey was a dead boy who worked as one of the Devil's helpers.

When she had been alive, Stress always left the ideas up to Jack or his pal, David. There had been really no need, back in those days, for a girl to come up with ideas. And, though she had learned much in the time that she had been residing within the different Daite girls – women even got to vote nowadays – Stress felt it might be better to let Jack explain Oscar's role in this whole ordeal.

Sighing, she also knew that Diana would not let the matter drop. In the few days that she had been awake again, she had gleaned a few major details about the girl; the biggest one, of course was how inquisitive she was. If Diana wanted to know the answer to a question, she would not stop until she knew it.

"Oscar is, you could say, part of the curse," Stress said, finally. She could already see that her simple answer had not satisfied Diana so, rather than allow the girl the opportunity to question her again, Stress used the little energy she had left to erase the block that Oscar had set up while Diana was sleeping. Maybe if she could remember what had happened in her dreams, she would start to piece things together herself. "Diana, what do you remember about last night?"

Diana's words died on her lips. Before she had a chance to ask Stress again about this Oscar person, she felt a slight tug. Then, as if Stress's inquiry held power over her, Diana's thoughts turned straight to the night before as she closed her eyes. _What _do _I remember?_

She gasped. For some strange reason, she seemed to remember quite a lot now. She remembered the seemingly innocent vision with Les and Rhiannon Jacobs. She remembered how easily the married couple had discussed the presence (and sudden disappearance, Rhiannon had said) of Jack Kelly in their lives.

And then she remembered that young man who had, somehow, intruded on her vision. He was much more vivid to her now – he was so very intimidating that, without even meaning to, Diana shivered. Which was strange really, considering that Diana began to feel extremely warm, as if she was heating up from the inside of her body. As the warmth spread outward, she tried to push the memory of that man out of her mind.

It was difficult – his memory was accompanied with a flash of anger that she attributed to the heat – but she did it. Unfortunately, his presence in her thoughts was replaced by another one, equally as disturbing.

She remembered seeing Jack… but Jack had a knife. As she had watched, he had used that knife to stab out at a victim. Stress. She had fallen and, with Diana's as an unwilling spectator, she died. And there was no doubt about it – Jack was glad that she had died. After all, he had killed her.

_He killed her. Jack killed Stress…_

Diana's green eyes sprang open, a horrified expression twisting her features. She pointed at the mirror, her finger trembling. "I know how you died," she said, her voice akin to a whisper. "Jack killed you… Jack killed you!" Her words tumbled out and her eyes widened. It seemed to make so much sense to her now. _I can't believe I've been helping that… that… that _murderer!

But Stress did not seem rattled at the revelation; she just lifted her head and smiled sadly. It was her mistake, really. She had meant to remove the false dream implanted by Oscar but she had forgotten. However, there was no way she could let Diana accuse Jack of a crime that he did not commit. "Calm down. Jack didn't kill me, Diana."

She scoffed angrily, not altogether convinced that she believed Stress's earnest tone; she thought it was the smarter choice to follow her own beliefs – even if those instincts were awarded through a strange dream. "And how do you know? You told me that you don't remember who killed you."

Stress chose to speak in a calmer tone, hoping that it would help to make Diana see reason. "And I don't. But I know one thing… it wasn't Jack. Really, Diana, do you think he could have done that?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Diana snapped, throwing her hands up in the air. "I've only just met the guy. Maybe that's why it's taking him one hundred years to solve the murder? He's in denial. You know, I always though—"

Stress's golden eyes began to glow. She looked so menacing that she had the desired effect of cutting Diana off. When she spoke, her lips were no longer moving and there was a faint echo-like quality to the sound. Like she had before, she was speaking straight to Diana's mind… but she was not just speaking. She was scolding.

_Diana Artemis Mason. You will not speak like that. It will be impossible for you to aid Jack in his search if you don't believe in him. It is that doubt that allowed Oscar an entry – it is that doubt that led the false images to be deposited into your mind. You know that, and I know that. So stop acting like a child. It is your fate – as it was the women before you – to find the truth. Do you understand?_

Diana weakly shook her head. There was a second tug and the certainty that she felt seemed to fade. She shook her head once, trying to clear it out. _Of course Jack didn't do it. He may be a lot of things – conceited, impulsive, and a liar, even – but he can't be a murderer…_

"Better, Diana?"

She glanced back at the mirror image. While the eyes were no longer glowing fiercely, Diana could see that the reflection was dimming. In fact, the longer she stared, the easier it was to see that, as Stress's image faded, Diana's image seemed to grow. She snorted under her breath. With the overlaying pictures, it was easy to see that there was some sort of mild resemblance between the two of them. "Yeah. I think I just lost my head for a moment."

Stress smiled. "I'll be watching out for you. I can see what you can't, hear what you can't. With the extra strength I seem to have, I think we can do this. Me and you. But," she added, when there was nothing more than a sliver of her reflection left in the glass, "you can't tell Jack. Okay?"

Diana could not understand why – she could not really understand much of this strange conversation – but she nodded. It was very easy to see that the girl in the mirror returned the nod. "I'll keep my mouth shut."

_Good…_

And, with that, Stress had disappeared. But not disappeared because, as possible as it was, Diana could all but feel her settling in deep inside of her. Surprisingly, that thought did not unnerve her as much as it could have. But that was only because she was just realizing that, after the talk with Stress, she still had no idea as to who Oscar was or what he was doing in her room.

Trying her best not to think that, at that very moment, there was an alert _soul _moving around her body, observing everything she saw, Diana stormed from the bathroom back to her bedroom. She was not surprised to see that both Jack and Kloppman were standing there, in the exact same positions she had had left them.

The ghost boy opened his mouth to say something as she arrived but she did not even give him the chance. She held up her hand and, trying hard not to choke on the still pungent aroma of brimstone, she took a deep breath. "Alright, I need some freaking answers, pronto."

She paused for a second, making sure that both of them were listening to her. When she was sure that they were, she narrowed her eyes. She was really beginning to despise being left out of the loop.

"Who the hell is Oscar Delancey?"

--

Ariadne was almost positive that she was blushing – her, a grown woman, _blushing _– as Tony pulled his lips away from her cheek. She resisted the urge to place her hand against the spot; instead, she smiled apologetically over at the handsome man. "I really should be going to my meeting," she said, all but cursing Frank Fletcher for having his business meeting just then. In the back of her mind, she was full aware that this meeting was set up weeks before and, besides, Tony had only just started to come around much more frequently within that last two weeks but Ariadne did not want to listen to reason.

The man did not seem to mind. He cracked a smile – a sideways grin, really – and winked once. "Business waits, my dear. I understand how that goes. Here," he offered, "let me walk you to the elevators." He held out his arm to her, the very epitome of a gentleman.

She was little self-conscious, taking his arm. After Tony had told her that he was going away on business this week, she had not expected him to come visit her at the office. Therefore, when she dressed for work that morning, she had worn a pair of stiletto heels; with the additional height, she was now a good two inches taller than the man.

But if there was one thing that she had learned about Tony, he was such a good-natured man. He never showed any sign of a temper or a malicious streak at all. If anything – and this was if she looked really hard – the only fault she could find with the charming, thoughtful, good-looking Anthony Higgins was that he seemed to have a bit of a gambler's soul. More than once in the short time they had been acquainted she had heard him offering odds on wagers. She thought it was somewhat endearing; it would have unnerved her if he was perfect.

If there was thing that Ariadne knew, it was that no one – dead or alive, her mind always seemed to add, subconsciously – was perfect.

As graciously as she could, she took his arm and, a rather shy smile coming to her face, she allowed herself to be led out of her office. She tried to ignore the knowing look of her young secretary – she was sure Rachel would have a comment when she returned from her meeting – and just enjoyed being so close to Tony.

The elevators were directly outside of Rachel's smaller office so the walk did not last near as long as Ariadne would have liked. She had thought that Tony was going to join her on the ride down – he worked in a neighboring building and, therefore, would have had to follow her in order to get to the front exit – but, when the metal doors opened, he did not follow her into the small room. She lifted her eyebrow but did not say anything.

Tony smiled again and, strangely, she felt at ease. "I have to take a meeting of my own," he said by way of explanation. "Maybe I shall see you later then, Ria?"

Ariadne nodded. "My meeting with Fletcher and his associates should only be an hour or so. If you're still in the building, do come and visit me. I'll be here until six…"

While the pair of them had unlocked their arms when she entered the elevator, Tony still had a loose grip on her hand. He lifted it up to his lips and softly placed a kiss atop the flesh before letting go of her hand. "Enjoy your meeting, Ria."

"Thanks." Her reply was a strangled whisper – she thought people only did chivalrous stuff like that in the cheesy romance films she watched late at nice. Ariadne had wanted to say more but, before she could, the elevators door shut, blocking Tony from her view. So she just sighed and, without him to see it, rested the front of her hand against her cheek.

As soon as the doors had closed, the smile slid right off of Tony's face. He shook his head once and turned around, heading right back in the direction he had come from. It was his intent to head straight to Ariadne's office but, before he had even crossed through the small office of Ariadne's secretary, he had been stopped.

"Excuse me, sir. You can't go in there when Ms. Cearr is out," she said, her voice high-pitched but firm. Rachel knew what her job was and she was going to do it, regardless.

Tony was fuming at her gall but that was only on the inside; on the outside, with another smile pasted firmly on his face, he appeared as gentlemanly as ever. He walked over to Rachel's desk and placed his hands against the wood. He made sure to stare directly into her light grey eyes. "I'm sorry, dear. But, you see, I left something behind in Ria's office. She told me that it would be perfectly acceptable if I just let myself in to retrieve it." He let out a chuckle. "I'm sure you understand."

For the life of her, Rachel could not understand why she had tried to stop him to begin with. She nodded. "Of course. Go right in."

Tony bowed his head. "Thank you so much," he said, before striding back towards the office.

Rachel just let him go before taking a tentative sniff. For some reason, she thought she could smell the faint, yet distinctive, scent of burning wood. Shaking her head, she stood up from her desk. It was due time for a coffee break.

He did not look behind him as he approached Ariadne's office. She had closed the great door behind them when they left but, he was aware, she had not had the time to lock it. Hoping that it was not the sort to lock automatically behind her – he was still so very impressed at the sort of innovations the mortals had come up with over the decades – he reached for the knob. He turned under the guidance of his hand and Tony smirked.

The door swung inward and he entered the room. Right away, he saw what he had, quite neglectfully, left behind him. There, sitting at the edge of Ariadne's desk, was the still steaming cup of coffee that he had brought her. Quickly, moving so fast that no one with human eyes would have seen him go, he was beside the desk, holding the cup up to his nose. He breathed in the fumes and closed his eyes.

It always amazed him just how someone with as extensive a history with the supernatural as Ariadne had could be so blind. The potent scent of black magic oozed off of the doctored beverage but she had not thought twice before accepting the drink from him. Which, of course, was a good thing – how else could he have earned himself an invitation over to that damn building without a little bit of… help?

He breathed it in and felt a bit more comfortable in his skin. But, if everything went according to plan, he would not be tethered to the mortal realm much longer. And for that, he was grateful. He had forgotten how much a human form itched.

Tony opened his eyes just then as he thought about what the next few days meant to him and to the Master's plans. He grinned wickedly and, there, under the fluorescent light of the office, if one was looking just right, it would have been possible to see the swirling flames of Hell within their dark depths.


	40. XL

Author's Note: _And, yes, I finally updated. This chapter is now the toughest one from this whole damn thing. Ask Rogue – I've been working on this sucker for near 10 days now. It just was ridiculous… I had no idea what to do with it but, thankfully, I got over that. However, I am asking you guys for a bit of help. Since we are getting close to the end, I am willing to answer your questions – or, at least, any questions that can be answered with pictures (you'll see what I mean at the end of the chapter). Anywho, enjoy. This is the fourtieth chapter… I am so psyched._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

February 5, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY

--

_Who the hell is Oscar Delancey?_

Whether it was the whirlwind way that Diana came storming back into the room, the pained expression that crossed her face when she walked smack into the brimstone scent (and coughed) or the assertive way in which she posed her question, Jack could not help himself. His lips twisted upwards and there was a minute shake of his head. "Hell," he said, the word almost floating out of his mouth, he said it so lightly. The soft sound was followed by a snort of disbelief. "Hell is the key word there, Diana."

The matter-of-fact way that Jack answered her demand led Diana to lose some of her certainty. She shook her head. "Huh? What? I'm…uh… I'm afraid I don't follow you."

Jack opened his mouth – still sneering – to respond but he was cut off by Kloppman. The old man's jaw was set and he turned to look at the ghost boy. "Jack. No."

Brown eyes met blue and there was a moment of dead silence, heavy and tense as the pair locked eyes. Diana glanced from one determined face to the next – neither Jack nor Kloppman were saying a word but she had the strange feeling that the pair did not need words to communicate. Their set expressions said everything for them.

An older man's glare had more power than a younger man's, Diana was almost certain. The butler never once blinked – he even removed his glasses from his face so that he could glare more effectively at the boy in front of him. His thin lips were spread into a straight line, the wrinkles around his mouth gone for once. As the silence continued, he just shook his head.

Jack gave it his best shot. He narrowed his own eyes and opened his mouth but, before he had said anything, thought better of it and closed his mouth, his teeth clacking as he clenched his jaw. He bowed his head slightly, thick strands of sandy-colored hair falling into his line of vision. He was just as determined but, when the old man shook his head, Diana saw it. Jack blinked. And then he sighed.

As if something had just transpired between the two of them, the tension evaporated as soon as Jack broke eye contact with Kloppman. The two of them visibly relaxed – Kloppman replaced his glasses on his nose, looking vaguely triumphant – before turning back to look at the very confused human girl that was still standing in the doorway.

Diana thought it was time that someone broke the uncomfortable silence. "I don't suppose one of you wants to tell me what just happened there?" When all they did was glance at each other, in a much friendlier manner this time, before looking secretively back at her, she shrugged her shoulders. "Somehow I didn't think it would be that easy but, hey, it was worth a shot. But, you know, I still want to hear about this Oscar guy."

Jack opened his mouth to speak again (no longer sneering, though) but, before he uttered a single syllable, he sent a sidelong glance over to Kloppman. Kloppman just jerked his head once. Jack exhaled. "Oscar is, you could say, part of the curse," he said slowly, as if he was choosing each word deliberately.

She made a noise of disbelief. _This whole thing is just ridiculous. All I'm getting is the run around. Why won't anybody tell me what is really going on here? _"I can't believe this. That's exactly what St—" Diana started, annoyed before a sharp pain caused her to stop talking and lift her hands to her head. It felt like someone had just kicked her brain. She moaned.

"Miss Mason? Are you all right?" Kloppman asked, quite concerned. He took a step forward, his hand outstretched in an attempt to comfort her, though he never actually touched her shoulder.

Jack, meanwhile, cocked his head to the side and stared at her, a curious look on his face. It did not seem to bother him that she was obviously in pain; something else entirely had caught his attention. "'That's exactly what'… what?" he asked, focusing on what Diana had said before she had covered her face with her hands. "What were you saying, kid?"

But Diana did not answer him – she was too busy waiting for the throbbing in her head to pass. The initial sharpness had faded almost as quickly as it had peaked but there was a lingering ache that kept her silent. Her eyes closed, Diana took a deep breath and then a second; the discomfort lessened with each exhale and, after a minute or so, the pain was just a memory. She shook her head tentatively before lowering her hands and opening her eyes.

"Wow," she said, finally, a bit of an embarrassed grin coming to her heated face – she felt like an idiot for having such a strange spell in front of Jack and Kloppman. "That hurt."

"Diana, what were you say—" Jack began again but, like before Kloppman cut him off with nothing more than a sharp look. He fell silent.

Kloppman smiled calmly, his voice soft and gentle. "Are you okay, Miss Mason? Can I get you some aspirin for your… your headache, is it?"

She did not think that she had ever been as grateful for the butler as she was at that moment. Trying to force the red stain of her blush from her face, she nodded. "Yes, please, Mr. Kloppman. I'd really like that."

The old man bowed his head, his glasses slipping down his nose. "I will be right back," he said before lifting his head to eye her and, with a wrinkled and weathered hand, gestured to her bed. "Perhaps it would be best if you rested for a moment. We wouldn't want your aunt becoming concerned that you've taken ill."

There was something about the way that he said that that struck a chord with Diana. She nodded again. "You're absolutely right, Mr. Kloppman. It must be… this smell or something. I'll just open the window and lay down for a bit. I don't want to bother Aunt Ria over a tiny headache."

She accented her statement by walking past both Jack and Kloppman and crossing the room. She struggled with the strange window for a moment – it took her a few seconds to figure out that it opened inward instead of just lifting up – but, once it was open and the strange brimstone scent began to dispel, she took a seat at the edge of her bed.

Diana felt as if her body was moving of its own accord; it was only when her body had folded beneath her and she was sitting comfortably atop the familiar pink comforter that she realized that she had even moved from her place at the doorway. It was not surprising though - her head, no longer throbbing, was currently spinning. _What the hell was that all about it? Damn it, that hurt. And all I was saying was… Oh. _

If it was not for that fact that her head had just been in momentary agony, she might have slapped her head in understanding. _I was about to tell Jack about something that Stress had said to me – right after promising that I wouldn't. _Hoping that the spirit could hear her, she tried to apologize. _Sorry about that, I didn't mean to. But, really, was all that really necessary?_

She was not entirely sure but she almost thought that she heard a faint sound of amused laughter coming from somewhere close by – female laughter at that. Diana ignored it.

Kloppman, despite Diana's newfound contemplative silence, seemed relieved. He clasped his hands together in front of him. "Well, then. I'll be right back," he announced, before turning around and walking towards the bedroom door. However, before he had fully exited the room, he turned around and looked straight at Jack. "Remember what I said, Cowboy." And, with that last comment, he had left, disappearing down the hallway.

The quiet that immediately followed was tense. Diana kept her face staring straight ahead, entirely aware that Jack was watching her curiously. Finally, when she could not stand it any longer, she swiveled her head so that she was meeting his gaze. "Tell me… If I start to ask you who Oscar is, will I get a real answer or should I just not even try?"

The ghost boy smirked. "Depends. If I asked you what you was going on about before you had your little spell, would you tell me?"

She wanted to sigh in resignation but she prevented herself from doing so. There was no way that she could tell Jack about Stress – that sharp pain was all the reminder she needed of her promise to the dead girl. "Fine. Forget it. I don't really want to know about some weirdo being in my room at night anyways… especially if he has something to do with your stupid curse," she said, the pout evident in her voice. She all but crossed her arms over her chest as she unwillingly dropped the discussion; she did, though, turn away from Jack. Right then, she thought she might get up and smack that silly smirk off of his face.

Now, Diana had expected him to have some sort of retort for her but, when she realized that he had not said anything, she glanced at him again. Jack was staring at her. Just like he had before – with that slight tilt of his head and one eye nearly closed – he was looking at the girl as if only seeing her for the first time. And it unnerved her.

She cleared her throat, feeling only a bit guilty when he jumped at the noise. "Jack? You okay?"

His eyes widened and he stood up straight. He attempted to bring a charming smile to his face but it seemed almost plastic on his features. Running his hand swiftly through his hair, he chuckled weakly. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. But… I mean… just for a second there… you looked like someone else I know – knew." There was no way that he was going to tell Diana that is was not the physical similarities so much as the tone of voice that she had taken, coupled with the way her face caved inward when she pouted. It was all too much for him – especially since he was damn sure that _her _name was the word that Diana had stumbled over before becoming sick.

Diana had no doubt as to whom he was referring to. As nonchalantly as she could, she scooped her curls up and, using one of the ponytail holders she kept on her wrist at all times, she pulled it into a sloppy ponytail. She knew that, by doing so, it really diminished the resemblance between her and the dead girl; while a few of their facial structures were similar, it was the same, curly hair that really marked the likeness.

It worked. Jack shook his head once, as if clearing it, and, when he was done, he grinned. "So. What do we do now?" His eyes went straight to the packet of pictures that he had tossed back on top of the bed while Diana was in the bathroom.

Diana followed his line of vision and, when she saw the familiar bundle of photographs and twice, groaned inwardly. While she knew that she would have to use those soon – sooner than she would like, at any rate – that was not exactly what she had in mind. Lifting her legs up and folding them so that she was sitting entirely on the bed, she tried her hand at smirking over at Jack. It felt refreshingly rewarding.

"I think I know. Before we get to your pictures," she said, her dislike written all over her face as she wrinkled her nose, "I want you to answer a question of mine. I only just realized how much you didn't tell me so far and I'm really curious about the answer to this one."

Jack seemed a little apprehensive – after all, of all the questions asked so far since he returned to the building that afternoon, there had not been many answers offered – but he did walk over to the bed. He did not take a seat but, rather, chose to stand at the end, looking down on her. "What's the question?"

"How did you die?"

She could see that the question took him entirely by surprise. In fact, it surprised Diana, as well. She had expected herself to ask Jack just how he knew Kloppman – she no longer believed the lame excuse that the butler had offered, especially after the strange way the pair of them had acted before. It was only after the four words had spilled from her lips that she realized that it was not the question she had wanted to ask. _I guess Stress has some questions of her own, _Diana thought wryly. She would have to remember to say something to the spirit next time they spoke.

Diana had to give Jack credit. Though it was obvious by the way his mouth dropped for a brief moment that he was not expecting her to ask that, he did recover quickly. "Here, I'll make you a deal. You have some questions, I have some answers. How about, for every question I answer, you have to look at a picture and tell me what you see?"

_Stupid pictures… _She shrugged, knowing that she would have to deal with them sooner or later. At least, this way, she would be able to ask her questions. "Alright. Deal."

She watched as Jack nodded his agreement and, before he started to answer her question, reached over his shoulder. Without even looking behind him, he grabbed the old cowboy hat that he always had hanging down his back and perched it on his head. Only then did he look ready to answer such a direct question.

"Alright, when you say that, what do you mean?"

Since Diana was not the one who came up with the question – though, now that it was posed, she was curious to the answer – she was not entirely sure what to say. She shrugged. "I don't know. I know you're dead. How did you die?"

"Poison."

_That would explain the flask that I saw him drinking about in my dream, _Diana thought, trying not to cringe. "Poison?"

"Yeah. Poison. The Devil gave it to me."

She could not tell if he was being serious or just kidding around with her – and, to be honest, she was not sure if she really wanted to know. "So you just… drank this poison that… the Devil gave you?"

He nodded, no hint of a smile on his face. "Yeah. I mean, you have to understand. It was the one year anniversary of her death… I was a little upset and I went out to a local bar." When he saw her eyebrow raise, he continued to explain. "There weren't no age restrictions back then and, I admit, I got plastered and I saw the Devil. I was on the roof and he appeared right before me, holding a fancy bottle. Told me that I would have a hundred years to save my girl. All I had to do was drink the bottle."

Jack stopped for a second and, from underneath the brim of his hat, Diana could see that his eyes were alive. She had the feeling that, as he was telling her about it, he was seeing it all play out in his mind.

He continued. "I was out of it, I admit, and I didn't believe him not one bit. Back then, you watched out for yourself. I didn't get to be eighteen years by listening to what strange people tell me. And that's when he told me about her death. He told me that she needed me… and I agreed. I swear, sometimes I wonder if he helped me to do it but, the next thing I knew, I was drinking off of that bottle. And then… I died."

"Oh." That was all she could say. _I mean… what am I supposed to say to that? Sorry you're dead? Can't believe that you would drink an unmarked flash given to you by someone who called themselves the Devil? _

"Yeah…" Jack said, noncommittally. He did not seem to mind that she had no words of support regarding his death; probably because he had been dead for ninety-nine years and, by now, had gotten over it.

There was another moment of awkward silence before the ghost boy flicked his cowboy hat off of his head and, leaning in, scooped up the pictures again. He waved them in the air. "Okay, kid. I answered your question. Now it's my turn."

Diana was still digesting everything he had just told her – it was the strangest thing listening to someone describe their own death; especially one as weird as Jack's – and had nothing to say. She sat, quietly, as he slipped the twine off of the pictures and let it drop to her bed. He shuffled through the photos as if they were a deck of cards, nodding smugly when he found the first one that he wanted to show her.

He handed it to her wordlessly. She accepted it, purposely trying to clear her mind before she glanced down at it; she actually wanted to get a good look at the image before the past sucked her in.

It was one of the older pictures, with feathered edges. It was a black and white photograph, though it had turned a pale brown color over the years, but Diana was not overly concerned with the appearance of this particular picture. Instead, she was staring at the people smiling back at her.

There were three people in the photograph, standing in front of a tall building: a man, a woman, and a small baby being cradled between the pair of them. At once, she knew who they were. _That's Les and Rhiannon Jacobs, _she thought, recognizing the faces of her great-grandparents (thanks to her previous visions). She grinned, then, as she squinted at the bundle in their arms. _And that must be Grandma Étaín…_

The recognition triggered her vision. She felt herself stiffening and vaguely understood that the picture had slipped through her fingers, falling to the bed. Or maybe that was just her body that was drifting downward…

And, for some reason, it was only then that Diana realized, as she felt the familiar sensation of the past consuming her senses, that Kloppman never returned with her aspirin.


	41. XLI

Author's Note: _Wow, I haven't had one of these chapters in awhile – it is not only entirely a flashback chapter but one that should answer a few questions (or, at least, help you figure out a few more minor things). A little bit of historical references (and a pop culture one, too) were thrown in for kicks, too. Woot. And, of course, my offer for last chapter still stands – if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask them. I want to make sure that all of them are answered by the time I finish this story._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

February 12, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY ONE

--

_In that quick glance at the worn photograph, Diana had not had much time to notice anything beyond the three people it captured: Les, Rhiannon and Baby Étaín Jacobs. But now… now that she had, once again, been sucked into the past, she could see much more. The building that had served as a backdrop for the picture was before her and, as she glanced upwards, she recognized it. The power of the image had dropped her off right in front of that same building that she was so familiar with – her Aunt Ria's apartment building… Les & Rhiannon's building. _

But_, Diana thought to herself, as she looked to her left and then to her right, _where are they? I didn't think of anything in particular when I glanced at Jack's photo so why didn't I arrive right when it was being taken? _Confused, she cast her eyes on the front door to the building. Kneading her bottom lip with her front teeth, she wondered if she was supposed to go inside to see what she was supposed to see. _Maybe they're inside…

_Just before she could even take a step closer to the open entrance, a group of people came bustling out. There was an old man, a younger man, a woman and a swaddled baby. The old man led the way but paused once he was on the stoop, letting the couple go past. They descended the steps, the brunette woman going slowly so as not to jostle her baby, and stopped when they had made it to the sidewalk. She glanced around in a manner quite similar to the way Diana had just searched the streets. _

_For one moment, the woman's bright green eyes locked on Diana's and the girl held her breath. _Can Rhiannon see me? _Diana was reminded vividly of the time that she had fallen into the past, only to have her great-great uncle spy her in her underwear. _Is it one of those visions?

_It did not seem as if it was. Almost as if Diana had imagined the prolonged eye contact, Rhiannon's head swiveled in the other direction before turning back to face her husband. "Les, dear, wasn't your brother supposed to meet us here at noon?" _

_Les, looking a great deal happier this time than when his wife had been expecting, scratched his head before nodding. "Dave said that he would be here today. Don't worry, honey, I'm sure he's not going to miss our little girl's first day home." _

_As the couple spoke to each other, Diana crept up close to the baby in Rhiannon's arms. Wrapped up tightly in the white blanket was a red-faced, dark-haired newborn baby, sleeping peacefully. Her miniscule fist was clenched, her itsy fingers curled as they rested against her smooth cheek. Aware that this baby was her seventy-two year old grandmother, Diana was hard pressed not to squeal in delight. The baby was so adorable. _

_Diana reached out a phantom hand to stroke the baby's forehead but, before she had even gotten near enough to the child to see if she would be able to feel her skin, Étaín's eyes opened. She cooed in surprise at finding herself awake; the coos quickly turned to whines of discomfort. _

_Rhiannon began to hush her daughter, trying her best to calm her down. Diana stepped away as the woman began to rock the bundle in her arms while, at the same time, taking a few steps forward and then a few steps back. Just to be on the safe side, she wanted to make sure that she was not in Rhiannon's way. _

_While Rhiannon was preoccupied with Étaín – whose brief cries had already quieted to a content set of sniffles – Les kept his eyes out for his brother. Luckily for him, he did not have much longer to wait. Not more than five minutes after his daughter had woken up, he made out a familiar face in the rush of pedestrians across the way. He grinned lopsided when a man, camera in hand, crossed the street. "Dave. You made it." _

David? The same David that I saw with his sister, mourning Jack? _Cocking her head to the side, she eyed this man. He was older than Les – probably about forty, forty-five years old – with a head of curly brown hair that was thinning in the front and peppered with grey. There were deep wrinkles set in his forehead, and a slight stoop to his walk, but his eyes – big and blue – were alive as he made his way over to greet Les. _

_It was so strange to see this man and relate him to the attractive teenager she had seen previously. Not for the first time did Diana remember that everything she was seeing had already happened – that everyone she had seen (or was currently seeing) had already lived and died. Though it had only been two days since she had encountered David in the other vision, it must have been nearly thirty years that had elapsed between the younger boy and the man she saw right now. _

_"Les, of course I did," he said, his voice deeper than she remembered. This David tucked the old-fashioned camera under his arm as he stuck his hand out towards Les. The two men shook briefly before David turned his attention to his sister-in-law. "Rhiannon, aren't you looking beautiful? I must say, childbirth sits well with you." _

_Rhiannon laughed coyly. "Oh, you flatter, David. And thank you so much. It was so kind of you to offer to photograph Étaín on her first day home." _

_"Please, don't mention it," he answered, lifting the camera up. As he fiddled with a few of the settings and spun one of the top dials, he continued speaking to the woman. "And, I'm so sorry that I'm late. I forgot all about the ticker-tape parade they held down on Fifth Avenue yesterday. They're still cleaning it up and I got delayed because of it." _

_"The parade for good ol' Lucky Lindy. Yeah, I wish I could have been here yesterday to see that," Les said. No sooner were the words out of his mouth that Rhiannon lost her smile. She turned and glared at her husband. Les gulped. "Of course, being with Rhiannon at the hospital was much more important than some silly parade," he amended, glancing over at his wife to make sure that his words were a proper apology for his insensitive remark. She nodded and his lopsided smile was back in place. _

_David, still busy with setting up his camera, had missed much of that exchange. Almost absently, he spoke without even lifting his gaze. "Well, Les, sitting in hospitals gets quite tedious after awhile. Look at me and Chastity. We had six children in a span of nine years. I felt as if all she ever did was give birth," he said, quite humorously. However, it seemed as if the only one who found that amusing was David; Rhiannon had turned her glare onto David this time. _

_"I'd watch it, Dave. Just because the baby was born, it don't mean that Mrs. Jacobs doesn't have any more of them mood swings left in her." _

_At the sound of the familiar, gruff voice, David finally looked up. "Kloppman? When did you get here? I didn't see you standing on the porch." _

_Kloppman shrugged. "I seem to have a habit of making myself a bit scarce. Almost as if I was invisible at times," he answered, quite simply. _

_There was a strange silence that followed his words – none of the three other adults knew what to say in response to that – and Diana took advantage of it by moving closer to the porch. She wanted to get a better look at the old man. Something just did not seem right about this. _

_It was a Kloppman, alright. There was no doubt about it. The same glasses, the same crooked nose, the same blue eyes… _

_But, what Diana could not understand was, _which _Kloppman? The man standing before her looked exactly like the man that had been in an earlier vision with a younger Les Jacobs… but he did not appear to have aged at all. And, she had to admit, as she moved up another step to get a closer look, he looked _exactly _like the butler she had come to know in the present. Yes, the clothes he wore were quite different and the way in which he spoke was nowhere near the modern speech but this _was _Kloppman. _What the hell is going on?

_Tucking this bit of information into the back of her mind – whether Stress wanted her to or not, Diana was going to get to the bottom of Kloppman's involvement in the damn curse – Diana turned back around. With a low cough, David had attempted to break up the quiet. _

_"Les? Rhiannon? Are you about ready?" _

_Rhiannon adjusted the bundle in her arms before nodding at her husband. Les turned to David. "Whenever you are, Dave. Where do you want us to stand?" _

_David brought his camera to his nose and peered through the viewfinder. He moved his head this way and that before raising his left hand, fingers curled and thumb extended. He lowered the camera. "I think you should stand right in front of the building. The entrance would be partially visible behind you and the building itself would take up the background. It would make a great shot, Les." _

_Les nodded, trusting his brother's judgment – after all, he had been taking photographs for nearly thirty years. He waved his wife closer as he positioned himself in front of the building. "Like this?" he asked when Rhiannon had cozied up next to him. _

_Squinting his eyes, David gaze at the scene with an artistic eye. After a few seconds, he widened his eyes and grinned. "Perfect." _

_"No. Not perfect," interrupted Kloppman, drawing everyone's attention back to the porch. "If I stay here, I'm in part of the image. Here. Let me get out of the way first." _

_Rhiannon looked over her shoulder, trying not to move her body from David's approved pose. "No, Alfred. You have been with us for so long now and Lord knows I never would have made it through the pregnancy without you… I want you to be in the picture with us." _

_Though she smiled as she faced the old man, there was such a resolute expression etched on her delicate face that he knew better than to refuse. He matched her grin. "I'd be honored, Mrs. Jacobs." _

_"Good. That settles it, then," she said, turning back around slowly while still speaking, "You come stand behind me. If you stand near Les, he'll hide you from the picture and we can't have that." _

_Kloppman nodded as he hobbled – Diana watched, interested, as he hobbled; the Kloppman she knew did not move in such an elderly way – over to the young couple. As per Rhiannon's instructions, he stood right behind her, placing one of his weathered old hands gently on her shoulder. _

_David waited until they were set up again before raising the camera. He pushed a couple of buttons on the top of the camera before satisfied that everything was perfect. Only then did he place his finger against the shutter and press down. _

_The flash went off and, as soon as it had, Diana waited for the vision to conclude. But it did not. Unlike every other time she had found herself in a vision that concerned the taking of a particular picture, Diana did not come to as soon as the image was captured. _

_To her surprise, as soon as the camera had gone off, she was still standing outside of the building with her ancestors. Vaguely she could hear that they were planning on bringing the baby inside so that David could be formally introduced to his niece but her attention was no longer on the scene before her; it was on the ghost boy that had appeared as soon as the picture had been taken. _Jack… what is he doing here?

_It did not seem as if Diana was the only one staring at him. Kloppman's eyes were glued in the boy's direction, obviously taken aback by his sudden arrival. While watching Jack out of the corner of her eyes – waiting to see what exactly he was doing – she focused on the old man. What was he going to do? And could this Kloppman really see Jack? _It seems like every Kloppman I've come across so far has been able to see Jack…

_She was an interested spectator as Kloppman told the Jacobs's that he would follow them up shortly. Something about it being a nice afternoon was his lame excuse and Diana could see that both David and Rhiannon were somewhat skeptical. Les, though, smiled warmly and told the old man to be careful. His words seemed to settle the matter and the three adults brought the baby inside, leaving Kloppman outside. _

_As soon as they had disappeared inside the building, Kloppman stalked right over to where Jack stood. "Cowboy? What are you doing? Don't you think that was a bit risky?" _

_Jack snorted. "Risky, Kloppy? What? You think they're all of a sudden gonna develop the sight?" He huffed and crossed his arms over the same dusty vest that he always wore. "You're the only one that can see me. Whether they believe in me or they don't, it doesn't make them able." _

_Diana was confused – and not only about the topic that Jack had brought up. Jack himself was confusing her. This _was _the boy that she knew but there was something… strange about him. He sounded much bitterer than the present Jack and more direct. And, of course, his darkened eyes and sunken in cheeks made him appear more malicious. If she did not know that he was already dead, she would have thought that he was dying, he looked so bad. _

_Ignoring Jack's retort, as well as the rude way in which the boy had delivered it, Kloppman looked concerned. "Where have you been, Jack? I heard the Daite girl. She said you haven't been around for awhile and I know for sure that you ain't been answering my calls… did you learn something? Did you find her murderer?" _

_"Her murderer?" He laughed this time, a harsh one that showed his companion that it was neither meant nor encouraged. "C'mon, Kloppman. You think that if I learned who killed her that I'd still be here? That _you_'d still be here?" He shook his head slowly, allowing his shaggy hair to fall in his face. "No. But I did learn something. You wanna know why I ain't been around? Because I've been fading. Ever since Les knocked our Rhiannon up, I've been feeling like a crasher… like I don't belong. And the closer to the date when that kid was born, the worse I felt." _

_Shoving roughly at his hair, Jack lifted his head up in order to meet Kloppman's eyes. "Shit, Kloppman. I was almost gone. I wanted to pop over to the hospital when Rhiannon gave birth and, when I entered the room, I… I started to vanish. I only just made it back to my hole in time." _

_"What does that mean?" _

_Even Diana could tell that that was probably not the best thing to ask Jack just then. She was not surprised when Jack's brown eyes narrowed in annoyance. "How am I supposed to know? I thought that I'd come down here and see if I could talk to Rhiannon but it seems Oscar was right. He told me that with the new Daite girl, I wouldn't be able to talk with Rhiannon no more." He lifted his hand up and pointed at the door. "And she didn't even see me here, Kloppy." _

Oscar? I wonder if it's the same Oscar that I'm dealing with, _Diana thought, before nodding to herself. _Of course it is. Both Jack and Stress _did _tell me that he was part of their curse.

_The old man sighed. "I thought it was strange that I saw you lurking and Rhiannon didn't even move her head in your direction. But how does Delancey know?" _

_Jack shrugged. "How else? And, I'll tell ya, he seemed mighty pleased to tell me that I was out of luck. Seems I'll be waiting for awhile for my next helper." _

_Diana exhaled loudly. For one small moment she had thought that she would actually find out who Oscar Delancey was; she thought it would have been funny if, after they all tried to keep Oscar's identity concealed from her, she found out who he was by looking at one of Jack's photographs. But, she knew, nothing wrapped up in this curse could ever be easy – Jack did not elaborate on Oscar… but he did catch her attention with his comment. _

_It seemed that his words had also caught Kloppman's attention. "What do you mean by that, Jack? You're going to get another helper? Who?" _

_"Rhiannon's daughter. Just like her mama, when that baby hits sixteen, she'll get to help me. Maybe then I'll actually found out what happened to Str—" _

_"Cowboy!" _

_Jack seemed to only catch himself. His mouth clamped shut as soon as the old man cut him off. He swallowed before weakly finishing his sentence, "to _her_." He shook his head and, when he glanced back at Kloppman, he looked a bit healthier than he had. "Thanks, Kloppy." _

_"Don't mention it, son," Kloppman said warmly before patting Jack on the shoulder. "Listen, why don't you go back to your room and rest? Just because you don't have Rhiannon anymore, it doesn't mean that there isn't anything we can do. You still have me, right?" _

_The boy looked like he wanted to reply to that but he thought better of it. Rather than reply, he just nodded his head, a small frown on his face. "Yeah. I know." _

_"Good," Kloppman answered in a tone so definite that Jack could not even add anything to the conversation should he even want to. "I will see you soon." _

_With a small wave, Jack started to head down the street. Diana was bewildered to see that he had chosen to walk back to his room instead of just _pop-_ping away. However, that did not mean that she was not going to take advantage of this stroke of luck. They way she saw it, there had to be some reason as to why she was still hanging out in the past (she was not going to entertain the idea that she was stuck… at least, not yet) and, if Jack Kelly just so happened to appear, it was a safe bet that he was involved. Jack _always _seemed to be involved. _

_So, tiptoeing, though she was well aware that she was as much a ghost as he was, Diana quickly made her way after him. With every step that she took, she was worried that she was going to lose her grip on the past and find herself staring up at the way-too-close face of Jack's. She was so preoccupied with that thought that she found herself facing that same alley way that Jack had brought her to on Friday before she even knew it. _

Hey, I guess he really has been living here for all this time, _Diana mused as she paused at the mouth of the alley. _That's pretty… interesting. In a weird, sort of way…

_The girl shook her head as she realized that she had followed the ghost boy all the way to his hide-away without remembering that he lived inside a place that, by all rights, should not exist. In fact, as she turned her head to her right, glancing down the alley, she was just in time to see Jack disappear through the brick wall. _

_"Hmm… now what?" Diana asked herself. She had been so nervous that she would never make it there but, now that she _was _there, she had no idea what to do. Or did she… _

_A strange idea just popped into her head. _If I'm technically like a ghost when I fall into the past, maybe _I _can go through the wall, too, _she thought as she tiptoed down to the spot where Jack had just slipped through the solid wall. At the very least, it was worth a shot, she figured and, besides, it was not as if there was anyone else around watching her make an idiot of herself if it did not work. _

_Diana took a deep breath and placed her hand up against the coarse brick – except that she did not feel the coarse brick that her eyes could see. It was a matter of which sense should she trust: her sight or her touch because, quite obviously, one of them was lying to her. _

_"Here I go," she murmured under her breath, as she pushed against the wall. Her green eyes widened and her mouth dropped as she watched her petite hand get swallowed up by the wall; it really had worked. She clamped her eyes shut and, with a second deep breath, she pushed herself the rest of the way through. _

_She waited a moment to make sure that she was really on the other side before opening her eyes back up. A quick glance around the small room told her that she had found herself in Jack's room. The same cot was there, with the quilt; piles of photographs and clippings were scattered around but they were nowhere near the amounts that the ghost boy had currently. _

_Jack was sitting calmly in the center of his bed, stroking a ball of fur that was curled up at his side. It was a larger cat than Four, with fur a few shades darker. The fur was sleeker and this cat had a tail that was thin and very long; that tail was thumping up and down against the quilt in a rhythm with Jack's pats. _

_"Oh, Twoey, I'm so glad that I found you. Between my first cat just up and leaving and then Rhiannon having to have a baby, it's been so goddamn hectic lately. And then you show up," Jack said quietly, entirely oblivious to the fact that he had an audience. "Who knows? Maybe between me, you and Kloppy, we can figure this out. I already can tell that you hate Delancey as much as I do, girl," he added, with a special scratch between her ears. "Dumb ass actually jumped when you hissed at him. I never would have guessed it." _

_It was fascinating to Diana to see how Jack acted when no other person was around – especially when it showed how much respect he had for a simple pet cat. She could not help it. "Aw." _

_Though Jack had no idea that she was in his nook with him, and did not hear her cooing, his cat automatically lifted her head. Two's head turned right in the direction of Diana and she unblinkingly eyed the girl, as if she knew she was there. But Diana was not thinking about the cat being able to see her. Something else entirely had caught her attention. _

_The cat that was staring at her was quite unlike any she had ever seen. Unless she was seeing things, this cat had two different-colored eyes: one blue and one… purple. _

What?


	42. XLII

Author's Note: _Okay, here's the next chapter. I just want to say that I have (finally) outlined the rest of the story. It still has quite some ways to go – there will be anywhere between 58-60 chapters in total (thought some of the chapters will be shorter than what I have been posting lately. And, i__f the beginning of this chapter is confusing, go back to chapter 9 (yeah, I know…) and re-read the flashback. It ties in, I promise. (PS, weekly updates will most likely be on Mondays from now on – as if that wasn't already obvious from the last three weeks of updates, heh.)_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

February 19, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY TWO

--

_Diana did not blink. Though her eyes began to water and her eyelids longed to just drop, she did not blink. She was afraid that, if she broke contact with this cat – with Two – then she would look back only to see that Two's eyes were a normal green, rather than this strange mismatched set of blue and purple. And, even though this was still a vision, Diana did not think she would like it if she was seeing things._

_But, as she learned, it is very difficult to outstare a cat – especially one that should not be able _to _stare back. _Can she really see me, _Diana wondered, as she felt the strain behind her naïve attempt. _Or is she just looking past me or something?

_She did not believe that second option; something told her that, despite being invisible to everyone else she had encountered, this feline could spot her. She groaned inwardly. _I don't get this. I understand that I'm trying to solve a century old mystery for someone who has been dead for almost as long. I understand that, according to the victim, she's part of me. I even understand that I'm reliving moments of the past with only a photograph as a prompt. But I have no idea why I keep thinking that there is more to a cat than it being… well… a cat.

_Aware that she really was beginning to sound crazy, even if it was in her thoughts, Diana gave in and closed her eyes. She did not reopen them right away. Instead, she thought about the strange coloring of this ancient cat's eyes: blue and purple. It seemed so familiar to her. _Have I seen someone with this trait before, _she asked herself. _

_It did not take long before she was able to answer her own question. _Yes… _It was in another vision, such as this, but the eyes did not belong to a cat. They belonged to a girl: Fae, Stress's companion. Two was wearing Fae's eyes._

I knew it, _Diana thought triumphantly, _I knew these cats weren't just cats. First there was Four, whose weird eyes looked just like that Honor girl. Now I got Two here. And there ain't no way I can forget that her eyes match that girl who was in that picture with Stress. _She grinned. _I don't know what this means, exactly, but I know I'm right.

_She opened her eyes to look back at Two. Since she was still hanging around in the past, she figured she might as well try to understand the significance of Jack's pets. After all, though she had not really thought about them since leaving Jack's nook on Friday, it seemed as if they were nearly as important as she was. _Is it possible that Jack had more helpers than he knew?

_Two was still staring at her, ignoring Jack's comforting petting of her head. But something was different. When Diana met the stony gaze of the cat, Two blinked. And, when she slowly lifted her lids – deliberately almost – her eyes had changed. They were no longer the color that they had been; their strange color had faded to a respectable yellow-green. "Meow?"_

_Diana's mouth opened. _What the hell just happened? _She shook her head and looked back at the cat. Two meowed again, but the girl ignored the soft sound. She was too busy being slowly drawn from the past. Whether she knew it or not, the surprise she felt at seeing Two change right in front of her was enough to sever the tether that kept her within this vision._

--

Jack was bored. It had been close to an hour since Diana had looked at his picture and fallen back onto her bed – and he was getting a bit antsy about it. While most of these spells lasted anywhere from five minutes to thirty, depending on the circumstance of the image, this one was lasting far longer and he could not figure out why. It was a simple picture, with nothing much to it. But still she slept.

He had tried to entertain himself while she was indisposed. First he paced across her bedroom, waiting for her to awake. Then, when he realized that she might be out for longer than he initially expected, he started to rifle through her dresser drawers, just to see what he could find. Nothing too interesting, though that might have been because he did not get too far. As soon as he found the drawer that held all of her undergarments, a sense of skewed embarrassment and shame led him to slam it shut. He could just imagine what her response would be if she woke up to see him rifling through her underclothes.

However, just because he did not want to go through her dresser anymore, it did not mean that he was done with snooping through her belongings. Walking back over to her bed, he eyed the side table. Diana had been piling certain items on top of the small table; he reached for her cell phone first.

Despite living through the ages and watching as Alexander Graham Bell's invention evolved into something with no operators, no wires and the capability to fit in a pocket, Jack had never had the opportunity to look at a cell phone so close. While it was possible that he could have just nicked one if he wanted to, it really came down to the fact that he had no one to call – so what use was it to own a telephone? The only person that he had continued to speak with over the decades had been Kloppman and the pair could speak to each other in ways that not even the modern technology had surpassed.

It was a strange device, Jack had to admit, and he could not understand how something so small could connect people throughout the world. Tentatively, the ghost boy poked at a few of the buttons, smirking when each one beeped back at him. But, when the thing started to speak back – something about the number not being completed as dialed – his smirk evaporated and he hurriedly put the phone down.

Instead, he turned his gaze towards the objects that were perched beside the phone: the 'Fate' box and the ratty toy that sat atop it. Jack picked up the stuffed deer and tossed it into the air before catching it again. It must have seen better days but, to a boy who was one seventeen, it was not that old. He knew that this was probably Diana Mason's most favorite possession – and, for the life (death) of him, he could not figure why.

_Maybe, _Jack thought, tossing the deer up into the air a second time, _it makes her feel better. Like my hat or that small wooden sword that Les used to run around with when he was a boy… _He caught Bambi and, realizing that his assumption was probably quite close to the truth, he tossed it down on the bed beside the still girl. Not really paying attention to his actions, he let the toy land directly on top of the photograph he had given to Diana.

The mention of Les in his mind was enough to draw Jack's thoughts back to the wooden box that was on top of the table. He turned and, without meaning to, sneered at it. Feeling a surge of irrational hatred towards the object, he wanted to pick it up and smash it. He tried, too. But, unfortunately for him, Diana had closed the box the last time she had gone inside of it. The ghost boy could not get closer than two inches away from the box, let alone destroy it.

Frustrated, Jack chose to finally just sit down at the foot of the bed. He leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the painted white ceiling as he waited for the girl to wake up again. Besides, how much longer could she remain in the past? None of the other girls had ever remained in a vision so long; they had always returned quickly.

_Ah, but this one ain't like the others, is she? _

Jack lowered his head, annoyed at his own thoughts. Sometimes his subconscious had the habit of betraying him and pointing out the obvious – which, as hard as he tried to deny it, Jack had to agree with. He sighed and glanced over at Diana. _What is it about this girl that is so different?_

Just then, as if Diana could feel the heat of his gaze, she began to stir slowly. Her nose twitched and her mouth opened a bit. She blinked once before her eyes – wide, staring eyes – remained open again.

He recognized the signs that she was slowly exiting from her spell. His question still on his mind, Jack watched as she brushed off the lingering effects of her vision. But wait… though he did not move from his place at the end of the bed, Jack narrowed his gaze. He knew he was looking fixedly at her but he could not help it.

For a moment – a split second really – Jack was almost positive that it was not Diana returning his gaze. For that brief moment, he could have sworn that it was his girl.

However, the sensation had passed before he knew it. By the time that Diana was fully awake, he had dismissed the notion as wishful thinking and nothing more.

--

Unlike the other times she had come out of a vision, Diana woke up slowly. She felt tired all of a sudden and, for a moment, almost decided that it might be better to keep her eyes closed and just fall into a real sleep. But, right before she gave into that impulse, she remembered what she was doing and where she had been – and she opened her eyes.

She was glad to see that Jack was not leaning over her. He was staring at her intently, though, his face expressionless as he glared at her from the end of the bed. Unable to take the strange way he was looking at her, Diana turned away from him. Her eyes, intent on finding something to focus on that was _not_ Jack Kelly, landed quite happily on her stuffed toy. Sitting up, she reached over and picked it up. Squeezing Bambi to her chest, Diana felt instantly better. More alert, and a bit calmer.

That was, until she noticed just what Bambi had been lying on top of: the photograph she had just been seeing. But there was something different about it now. Even out of the corner of her eye, Diana saw that something was different.

Ignoring Jack entirely, she let Bambi drop to her lap before reaching for the photograph and lifting it up to her face. Confused, she squinted, as if trying to figure out how the photograph had changed.

In her vision, Kloppman had, at Rhiannon's request, stood behind her so that he was photographed with the family – but, prior to falling into the past, the picture that Diana held only showed three people: Les, Rhiannon and Étaín Jacobs. Now, though… Kloppman was unmistakably there, grinning broadly out at her. And, as she stared in disbelief at the obvious addition, the old man seemed to be mocking her.

Just like Two's eyes, the picture had changed. _But how?_ _How? _She could not understand it. She was _positive _that the picture has only shows her great-grandparents and their newborn daughter; seeing the earlier Kloppman there would have been something she would have noticed.

Right?

She blinked a few times and swallowed. When the shock had worn off a bit and she could think of something other than the word 'how', she casually turned her body so that she was looking at Jack. "Hey, uh, Jack?" she said, finally, her voice much higher than usual. She sounded fake and they both knew it but, smartly, Jack did not comment on it. "Was… was this man always in this shot?"

Diana held the photograph out to him. Jack accepted it and glanced at it quickly. He saw Les, Rhiannon, Étaín and Kloppman. For a moment, he was brought back to the day it was taken. He had been watching from the corner as Dave came along and snapped the photograph; he had thought it was nice that Rhiannon invited the old man to be in the picture.

Nodding, he waved the picture. "Yeah. What, you didn't see him when you were there?"

"It's not that. It's…," Diana answered before pausing. Really, how could she explain that this was not the picture she had seen before falling into the past? She could not. Quirking her lips upward in a facsimile of a genuine grin, Diana shook her head. "Never mind. I think… I think I was still a little out of it there," she said, trying to cover her confusion with a weak chuckle. "You know how it is. Slipping in and out of the past really does it to a girl."

She could tell by the way he was looking down at her that he did not buy her excuse for a second. But, before he could point that out, Diana thought she would turn this conversation back on him. She glanced at the picture clasped loosely in his hand. _Kloppman… _"Hey, Jack. Who _is _that guy?"

"What guy?"

_Of course he's going to try and play dumb, _she thought to herself. She pointed at his hand. "That guy right there."

Jack did not even look at the photograph. Instead, he smirked. "C'mon, kid. I would have thought that you'd be able to recognize your ancestor by now. That's Les Jacobs, Rhiannon's husband."

He was definitely playing around with her – and the almost condescending way he had answered her question aggravated her. She did not match his tone, though. Diana knew that he was just trying to rile her up in order to get her mind off of its current train of thought. Still speaking as calmly as before, she shook her head, "No, Jack. Not the younger man. The old one. You know, the one that looks exactly like my aunt's butler."

Diana may have though that she was speaking calmly but Jack heard the definite edge to her voice and groaned inwardly. He had thought that the girl had given up on finding out about Kloppman. Even after all the inadvertent clues he had accidentally given her, she had not really focused on the old man long enough to figure out the truth. But now…

_Hey, Kloppy?_ _Yeah… hurry._

Jack took a moment to scratch his head, purposely lowering his gaze as he sent the message to Kloppman, before meeting Diana's harsh glare. "Of course he looks like him. That's his—" _Quick, that picture was taken when Rhiannon had her kid in the late '20's. Who would that be to Kloppman? _"— grandfather. Looks just like this Kloppy. Strange, ain't it?"

Even the ghost boy knew how lame that excuse sounded. Therefore, he was not the least bit surprised when Diana arched her eyebrow. "Really, Jack? His… grandfather. How convenient."

Luckily for him, Jack was saved from coming up with an reply to Diana's comment. Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, there came a soft knock from the doorway. Kloppman was standing there, his hand formed into a loose fist and he rapped against the inside of the wall. "Miss Mason?"

Her disappointment that the butler had chosen to return to the bedroom at that exact moment was evident. Her lips turned downwards and she reached for a stray curl. Pulling on it idly, she exhaled. "Yes, Mr. Kloppman?" Her voice sounded strained. She really thought that she was _this close _to getting Jack to explain the man's involvement to her; she was certain that there was a lot more to this that they knew but did not want to share. It was frustrating.

Kloppman appeared to be almost out of breath – as if he had rushed over to the room. But, when he spoke, it was the same grave tones that Diana was familiar with. He lowered his one hand – still curled up – before raising the second. He was holding a glass of water. "I was wondering if your headache was still bothering you, Miss. I brought you some aspirin and a glass of water."

_Hmm._ _I guess he didn't forget my Advil after all. I mean, it sure took him long enough. _Lying, she told him, "Well, my head still hurts a little bit. Thank you."

Kloppman shuffled into the room, purposely avoiding Jack, as he approached Diana. When he was standing right before her, he extended his curled up hand and, turning it so that his palm was facing upwards, he unfurled his fingers. There, resting in the center of his hand, were two aspirins.

Holding out her hand, she accepted the two brown pills and automatically popped them into her mouth. Kloppman held out the glass of water and she took that as well. One quick swig of it and a backward tilt of her head was enough to propel the aspirin down her throat. She made a loud smacking noise with her lips before handing the glass back to the butler. "Thanks."

Kloppman, in an increasingly servile manner, bowed his head. "It was my pleasure, Miss Mason. We really would not want your aunt to worry needlessly, would we?" Behind his thick glasses, he winked. "It'll just be our secret."

The allusion to Ariadne made her a little bit nervous. It was almost as if Kloppman knew that she did not want her niece fraternizing with the ghost boy – and that he was, slyly, telling Diana that he would not tell his employer.

_How can I continue to pry into his business when he's trying to help me out? _Feeling a touch of guilt, Diana nodded. "I appreciate that. Really." She attempted a gracious smile and was surprised when it came easier than she thought it would.

"Good." There was a moment, after the solemn pronouncement of that singular word, when Kloppman and Jack made eye contact. But it did not last and, before Diana knew it, Kloppman had retreated from her bedroom, leaving her and Jack alone again.

It was awkward. Jack was waiting for Diana to resume her interrogation about the Kloppman family. Diana, on the other hand, was trying to figure out what had just transpired between her and the old man. She had the strange feeling that there was much more to that exchange than she knew.

Neither one of the two said a word for quite some time. Jack longed to light up another cigarette in an attempt to slough off some of his nerves but, without a pair of matches, he knew he could not. Instead, he sighed. From her focus on Kloppman's presence in the picture he figured that nothing else of importance had made itself known to the girl during her vision. It made no sense to waste time in silence, nor to reiterate Étaín's first day at the building. It would be best just to continue with their deal. "Alright, Diana. You did your part of the deal. You up for another round?"

Jack's voice cut through Diana's thoughts. She jerked slightly. "What? Huh? Oh, right," she muttered, remembering what it was that she was doing. With everything that she had just learned – as well as quite a lot that was still unknown to her – her head was filled to the brim with facts, theories and possible solutions. The longer that Jack had let her think, the more questions she had come up with – the more answers she needed. She had almost forgotten that, as per their arrangement, she had the right to ask him another question.

But what question should it be? There were so many running through her head. How was she supposed to settle on one?

All she could hope was that, when she finally landed on one that was significant enough to ask, Stress would not feel the need to intervene. Again.


	43. XLIII

Author's Note: _Here we go, the next chapter. Nothing really to say right now. This chapter started out as being a lot shorter than it ended but sometimes it just grows. Blame the characters and the way they manipulate the story. I know I do :) But that's alright because that's more for you guys to read. So, yes: Read. Review. Enjoy. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

February 27, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY THREE

--

Screwing up her face in concentration, Diana chose that moment to look back on all she knew – which, the more she thought about it, really was not much. There were just so many questions that she could (and should) ask and trying to figure out which one she should ask was promising to be harder than she initially thought it would be.

_What do I know… hmm... well, so far, I know that Stress was murdered in August of 1899 but I don't have the faintest clue to who did it. But it wasn't Jack. She made that quite clear. Jack is the hero in this story, even if he's a hero who has spent one hundred years looking for an answer that he hasn't stumbled across yet. _She stifled a snort, aware that Jack was watching her curiously. She could feel the heat of his gaze but purposely did not meet it. He could wait a few minutes. _Besides, wasn't he good at waiting by now? Some hero. _

She shook her head. A minor sense of annoyance – annoyance at herself, at Jack, at _everyone _– washed over her. All she had wanted to do this weekend was track down the specter and bombard him with a variety of questions. Yet, once he was actually _offering _to be honest with her and tell her what he knew, her mind went blank. She did not want to waste such an opportunity but she was paranoid that, if she blurted out the first thought that came to her mind, she would not learn anything new at all.

_Okay, what else? I know that he has had a slew of helpers that he knew about: all girls from my family. Mom, Aunt Ria, Grandma Étaín and, of course, Rhiannon Daite. But that's not it. What about those cats? I'm pretty sure that Four has something to do with Honor. And Two… Two had to have been Fae. Right? I mean, blue and purple eyes? How else? _

_Should I ask about the cats? I don't know… the last time I asked Jack about his pet, he looked at me like I had been smoking something. He didn't seem to think that there was anything strange about Four at all. Or could he have been lying about that, too? I mean, it's not like Jack never lied or did something that was untrustworthy… _

_So I have a ghost boy who is trying his best to solve this mystery at the last minute before he goes to Hell. I have cats that I may or may not be overreacting over, an old man that seems to be anywhere and everywhere at the same time and, yes, a dead girl's spirit who likes to talk to me through mirrors – and that's when she's not reminding me out right that she lives inside of me. I have an aunt who, depending on her mood, harbors a grudge towards the dead boy and is actually dating someone who makes me feel like I want to beat the snot out of him. Oh, and let's not forget about an old ass box with a pointless blank book, and some weirdo called Oscar that _nobody _wants to talk about… _

_And, not surprisingly, I am no closer figuring out who did what and when (thank goodness I know where it all took place or this would be one gigantic real-life version of _Clue_…) and why. Because that might just help… But, yeah… I don't think anyone really knows why we're doing what we're doing. I mean – if they did? Wouldn't this have been over and done with decades ago? _

_There's got to be something more to this. Something that I'm missing. But what is it? _

Trying not to grow flustered under Jack's continual stare, Diana exhaled. She had brought up every interesting point that she had learned over the course of the last five days but, really, she knew nothing. And here was the ghost boy, offering to answer another of her questions; she knew that she needed to choose the _right _question in order to actually begin to make sense of any of this Devil's curse. Otherwise is was nothing more than a waste of rapidly dwindling time.

_If anything_, Diana decided, _this is just a problem to be solved. Like a really elaborate word problem from school or a jigsaw puzzle, even. I have just enough pieces to the puzzle… just enough information… to know that a solution is possible. Now I have 'til the end of the summer to take each piece I have and put it where it belongs. Only then will I figure this out. _

_Everyone and everything thing has its own role in this mess – even me. And my role is to do what my ancestors couldn't. I have to solve the mystery of Stress's murder… and I will. I can do this. I just have to go about it in another way. _

_And that means, _she added, almost as an afterthought, _not asking the same questions over and over again. If they wanted me to know who Oscar is or what the hell this Kloppman or that Kloppman was doing, then they would tell me. It's pointless to keep asking that. I have to ask about something… different. _

_But what? _

Her mind focusing on that question, Diana ignored the prolonged quiet. Slowly, she brought her hand up and casually ran her fingers through her hair. She chose one particular curl from the rest and let it wrap itself around one of her fingers. She was still shaking her head but the movement was so slight that only Jack could see it – and that was because his large, brown eyes had never once removed from her face.

He was slightly gawking at her but he did not appear as if he was a lovesick pup or a young man in awe of her profile; this open stare, with a slack jaw hanging down, was one of suspicion. Diana was making him nervous and, when nervous, Jack automatically went on guard. Ghost or not, he had lived on the streets too many years to let such a contemplative quiet go unnoticed. She was thinking, yes… but perhaps a little too hard.

"Hey, um… Diana?" he asked, finally. His curiosity got the better of him – as well as his nerves – and he could not take this silence any longer. "You plan on answering me anytime soon, kid?"

She had been lost in her own thoughts. Jack's voice barely registered but, when it did, Diana turned slowly to look at him. She lowered her hand, letting the single curl fall forgotten. "What?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Did you just say something to me?" Her voice was a little more snappish than it had been before; it seemed as if being stolen from her thoughts did not sit well with the girl.

Jack smirked. He did not want Diana to know that she had made him just a tad bit on edge so he covered it up with a curl of his upper lip. "Yeah. I thought you wanted me to tell you what I know. But if you ain't interested, that's all you had to say."

"I didn't say that," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest in one defiant gesture. She did not like the way that Jack was looking at her now. She could not understand why he had felt the need to intrude on her thinking. So she took a few minutes to gather her thoughts. Was it really that necessary to rush her along?

"That's the point. You haven't said much of anything."

His reply irked her even more. The tone of voice he was using told Diana that he thought he was right and that she had no way to argue against his logic. She opened her mouth to try but, before one word had passed her lips, she closed it. It was not worth it. Not when she still had to come up with a worthwhile question.

"Just give me a second, Jack. All right? Sheesh," she added, under her breath. At that moment, she forgot her earlier decision that she was going to play nice with Jack – that she was going to do her best to help him. With every second that she spent with him, the deadline was becoming all the more real to her. She was determined not to be the one who let the last sands of the hourglass fall.

She was surprised to see a fleeting abashed look cross his face. It was there and then it was not, quickly replaced by one of strained amusement. He bowed his head in a mocking manner. "Whenever you're ready, then."

Diana rolled her eyes and, purposely ignoring him now, went back to her earlier train of thought. Not wanting to waste any further time, she tried to pick one important topic that she could ask Jack about. However, she just realized something: the reason why it was so hard for her to come up with a question was that so much of this mystery was a secret.

_No wonder they never figured it out. Not only can't Jack say her name out loud but he doesn't even know that his pets were people he used to know or that Stress has been hanging out right under his very nose. But, no… he's not allowed to know that. Just like I'm not supposed to know who Oscar is or what is going on with Mr. Kloppman. I mean… is there anything I'm allowed to ask about? _

It did not seem that way to her. Between serious discussions with Jack, Kloppman, Stress and, even, Ariadne, Diana had only been warned that no one was supposed to talk about any of this. Whether it was part of the Devil's terms or not – and she had the sinking suspicion that it was – it was damn near impossible to figure anything out.

Not for the first time did Diana wonder how her ancestors put up with Jack and his quest. It had only been five days for her and she was already getting more frustrated than she had ever been before. She just could not imagine spending years upon years with him as an unwanted companion.

_Companion… _

Something about that word stood out in her mind. For a few seconds, Diana was grasping at the intangible thought while struggling to understand why it was so significant. Her frustration was obvious but her resolve was greater and, as she clutched at the edge of the mattress, twisting the pink comforter tightly around her fingers, a face appeared to her mind's eye.

The aged, yet undeniably attractive, face of Anthony Higgins floated before her and Diana understood. Though she could not figure out why her aunt's… _whatever… _was mixed up in this, she knew that he was – Stress had admitted that to her during their first meeting, even if she could not say more on the subject apart from that he was involved. What was it she had said?

_Watch out for Tony. I wish I could tell you more about him but I can't. You're going to have to figure that out on your own… _

Diana nodded, a relieved grin coming to her face. Just because _Stress _could not tell her about him, did that mean that _Jack _could not? She did not know but she was going to find out.

But, before she turned back to face Jack, Diana tried to see if the girl's spirit was going to interfere again. She felt foolish, considering she had no idea if she was able to summon Stress, but eventually decided that her silence meant that she was either fine with Diana's plan or was just not responding due to some other reason.

Either way, Diana was fine with that. She turned her body so that she was sitting opposite of Jack (who was still sitting at the edge of the bed). "Okay. I do have another question for you. Do you know Anthony Higgins?" When all he did was straighten up from his slouched position and just stare curiously back at her, she thought it might be better to clarify. After all, Stress had not referred to him as such; maybe Jack did not know that his full name was Anthony. "He goes by Tony."

"Well, if you're talking about the Higgins that I know, he didn't only go by Tony. He went by Racetrack mostly," Jack said, almost tentatively. His face, while still wearing that guarded expression, told her more than his words did; the ghost boy was wondering how Diana knew the other boy.

She shook her head. "I don't think that the Tony Higgins I'm talking about is the one that you're talking about," she replied, placing her pointer finger against her bottom lip. Something about the way that Jack answered her question bothered her. It took her a second before she understood what it was that made her think that they were discussing two different men. "You said 'went'. Is the man you knew… this Racetrack… is he dead?"

Jack looked back at her as if he did not understand the question. But, rather than act as if he was confused, he laughed. When Diana did not join on the laughter, he raised his eyebrows. "You're serious, ain't ya?"

"Of course I'm serious. Why else would I ask you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it was a joke question. I mean, if you're asking me about Race, than you must know something about him. Right?"

"I didn't ask about your Racetrack friend, Jack. I asked about Tony Higgins. You brought up the other guy," Diana retorted.

"Yeah. Because Race _was _Tony Higgins. He was a good pal of mine, back when I was alive. But he's dead. He's been dead for years now. Died in 1924. A tragic motorcar accident, I believe. I got his obituary back at my place if you're really interested in him…" Jack let his offer fade away. Diana was sitting there, quietly, her eyes lowered so that she was following the threaded pattern in the comforter. Something about her change in attitude made him realize that his offer was falling on deaf ears. "Wait, Diana. I mean, you are interested in Race, right? Because if you're not… then why did you ask about him?"

She lifted her head up. He could see that she was as confused as he was. Her teeth were nibbling on her bottom lip nervously as she came up with an answer to his question. Finally, she said, "I met a man this weekend, Tony Higgins. He's a—" Diana paused. She was not sure if she wanted to explain to Jack how exactly she knew this man, just in case he turned out to play some sort of significant role in this whole mess, "—a friend of my aunt's. I don't know. He seemed kind of weird to me. Almost like he knew that something was going on," she lied, wishing she could just kick herself for bringing this subject up. It had seemed like such a good idea when she first thought it up but now… How was she supposed to explain how she knew Tony without implicating either Ariadne or Stress?

But Jack did not appear as if he doubted her story. Instead, he ran his hand absently through his hair. When he spoke, it was as if he was speaking to himself rather than directing his words at her. "I don't know. I didn't get the chance to go to his funeral when he died because he had relocated to Jersey and I couldn't go that far without one of the Daite girls to keep me grounded. But Les? He never told me that Race had kids. I didn't even know he got married. Married, damn."

The ghost boy was speaking under his breath, with a wistful quality to his voice that made Diana regret even more so her decision to mention the man. "I'm… I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't—"

This was a quick jerk of his head and his self-assured smile was back in place. "Sorry? You don't got anything to be sorry for, kid. Trust me. After all these years, you get used to the idea that everyone you knew grew up and lived life without you. A hundred years is a long time. There's a lot I don't know." There was a mix between a snort and sigh. "You know that, eh? Look at me. I still don't know what happened to my girl. So what if I missed out on my pal getting married and having kids. I'm just lucky that I got to see any of my friends at all move on."

Though he was definitely trying to reassure her, Diana still felt guilty. It was hard for her to remember that she had only been involved with this curse for five days while Jack… Jack had been living it for generations.

The quiet that followed was a mixture of sadness and awareness. The playful banter had taken repose as solemn understanding finally surrounded the pair. In a gesture of support, Diana reached at her hand and gently patted his shoulder. He was solid and she felt comforted by his presence. At that very moment, if her hand went through him, Diana thought she might just cry.

Ever since having this whole thing thrust upon her when she arrived in the City, she had regarded Jack's mystery – including the ghost boy himself – as nothing more than a nuisance. But, just then, as she sat there with him in the silence that followed, she began to really understand what it truly was.

It was her destiny. If there was only one thing that she was supposed to do in her life, it was this. It was her responsibility to help Jack Kelly and make sure that he and his girl achieve peace. At the very least, after everything the pair of them had gone through during the last century, they both deserved peace.

There was a hint of a smile – it took quite a bit of effort to keep it in place – when Diana leaned away from him. If she assumed that the Tony Higgins that she had met was a descendant of Jack's old friend, Racetrack, then it only served that he had no real role in the mystery; after all, Stress had been murdered nearly fifty years prior to his birth.

However, that did not explain away her (and Stress's) certainty that he played a part, somehow. _Unless Racetrack is the person that I'm supposed to be asking about, _Diana wondered. _Stress did say that Tony played a part. Maybe she was thinking about Racetrack instead. _

_But should I really continue asking about him? _She still felt guilty. Just the mention of this long-dead friend of Jack's had served to make him obviously worried, if not depressed. But, from experience, Diana knew that this mood would not last. Jack was predominantly good natured, despite all of his other flaws, and he could not hang onto such a state for long.

Making up her mind, Diana decided to just go ahead and ask him another question about Racetrack. Relinquishing the opportunity to learn more about the past was not an option. If the ghost boy was not going to change the subject by offering a picture for her to view, she was going to take advantage and try to sate her own curiosity while she could.

"Jack… uh, does your Racetrack have anything to do with… this?" she asked, trying not to sound insensitive. She waved her hand around as she spoke before wincing at her last ill-chosen word. She was not sure what else she should call it. Murder mystery sounded too sensational, while mess seemed to understate the severity of the situation. In the end, she just settled on 'this'.

Regardless of the way she worded her question, Jack understood what she meant – at least she thought he did. He did have a reaction; it just was not the one she had expected.

While she thought that he might have remained quiet as he worked out her question or even shake his head at the absurdity of the notion, Jack did neither of those things. Instead, he just laughed. He laughed heartedly and loudly.

"Race? You kidding me, kid?" He let out another blast of laughter, slapping his hand against the edge of the bed. Deep laugh lines etched into his handsome and worn face as he shook his head, amusedly. "Oh, boy. The next thing you know you're gonna tell me that Str— that my girl talks to you or something."

All Diana could do was chuckle weakly.


	44. XLIV

Author's Note: _Holy damn, was this chapter ever long (and I actually cut one scene from it for the next chapter, too). But, for anybody who was waiting to see if there would be any further mentions of the film in this story, this chapter is for you. I actually had to stop and look up the photograph but, hey, it sure gave me a laugh when I did. Hopefully you guys like this chapter – I think it's interesting, at least. So yeah, you know the drill. Enjoy! _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

March 6, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY FOUR

--

He did not stop laughing until there was a glassy look to his eyes that could only be attributed to the appearance of tears. Wiping haphazardly away at the moisture, Jack tried to catch his breath. He hiccupped once and groaned when the obnoxious sound caught his ears. He disregarded Diana's sheepish expression; he was too preoccupied with the idea that the girl had thought that Racetrack – _Race, of all people – _might have had something to do with Stress's murder.

Finally, he said, "I'm sorry. Its just… it's been so long since I actually thought about any of my old pals and Race," he added, once again back in control, though his face was almost as red as the apple he had nicked from her earlier, "he was a good guy. A gambler, yeah, but funny. Loyal, too. If you knew him the way I did, you'd see why your question made me laugh."

Diana felt indignant at the way he had answered her. She had asked a legitimate question and a face full of boisterous laughter was her sole response. That bothered her probably more than it should have. A rush of anger flared; she no longer felt any guilt for bringing up such a sensitive subject.

Regardless of what exactly Jack said, she knew that Anthony Higgins was involved _somehow_. No amount of amusement was going to sway her from her curiosity. As he did not try to change the subject or make up some silly excuse, Diana figured that this was a topic that he was not forbidden to discuss. And, if that was the case, she was going to press it until the answer she received was satisfactory.

It was a struggle keeping her annoyance in check. One part of her – she was pretty sure that it was the Diana part – wanted to reach out and just shove at him. While she was aware that it would not accomplish much, if he even obliged her again by staying solid, it would make her feel better. But then, there was that second half of her that told her to let him have his laugh – it was that half that she was beginning more and more to associate with the dead girl. At least, she hoped it was the dead girl. She was not about to admit to herself that Jack was worthy of a bit of compassion given his ongoing predicament; she preferred annoyance to pity.

When she finally felt as if she could face his cocky expression without wanting to throw a pillow at his head – considering how well that had worked last time she lost her temper – Diana sighed. "Fine. Whatever. You said that I could ask you a question, so I did. You didn't have to laugh like that, you know." Ending her statement on a quiet lilt, she crossed her arms over her chest.

She was hoping to make him feel guilty with her words but, if she succeeded, she had no way to tell; his face did not betray his emotions at all. His upper lip remained curled, his left eyebrow was raised slightly higher than his right and his eyes were staring at her in amusement. "Of course I did," he drawled lazily, obviously enjoying the way his response to her question had gone on to rile her up. He had had a lifetime of perfecting a nonplused attitude; Diana, on the other hand, was as easy to read as an open book.

Ending that part of the conversation on his terms, Jack took that moment to stand up from the end of the bed. Despite her better judgment – he was still bothering her for some reason; his continued assurance that he was in the right probably had something to do with it, too – she watched him. She tried to hold on to her irritated state, but her curiosity prevailed. _What the hell is Jack doing? _

The ghost boy held up one of his fingers, indicating that he had something he wanted to say and that he wanted her sit still while he did it. "All right, I shouldn't have laughed like that but… hey… you caught me off guard," he told her, looking somewhat apologetic as he tried to explain away his behavior. "I haven't thought about Race in years so it was a bit weird for you to be asking about him but…" he added, lifting his finger up once more before bringing his right hand behind him and reaching into his back pocket. Just like he had done that first day, out on Duane Street, he pulled out a handful of pictures. He shuffled through them quickly before selecting one. Holding it gingerly in his left hand, he quickly placed the others back in his pocket. As soon as he had finished that task, he held out the chosen picture to Diana. "Here. It's the only one I got of Race. At least you can see what he looked like."

Almost automatically, Diana stuck her hand out to receive it. But, before the paper had even brushed her fingertips, she had drawn her hand back. "Jack…" she said, the suspicion evident in her voice, "… I know I've asked this before but this isn't some kind of trick or anything, right?"

"Nope. Not a trick," he said, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned in and let the image slip through his fingers. They two of them watched as it fluttered down onto the bed, falling face down beside Diana's thigh. "But I want you to be really careful with it. It's one of the oldest pictures in my collection and it's pretty damn fragile. And, trust me. I can't get another one of them as much as I'd like to. It's definitely seen better days."

Diana did not know what surprised her more just then: that he was actually sounding sincere for once or that he carried around a picture of Anthony Higgins in his back pocket.

Wondering about the picture of Anthony Higgins won out and, with a careful hand, she picked up the picture. Without even turning it over – she had not had the chance to clear her mind yet so she was waiting to flip it – she realized that there was something different about this one. Well, two things really.

First she saw that it was not just that the image had landed face down; the picture was folded in half, hiding the picture from her sight. She let out the small breath that she had not even realized she was holding. _I guess I don't have to worry about glancing at the picture and popping into the past… _

But that was not the only weird thing. From the feel of the object against her palm and fingers, she could tell that this was quite unlike any of the pictures Jack had shown her before. She lifted it to her face and suddenly understood why. This was not a photograph; it was a newspaper clipping.

Without opening it up, she let it rest loosely in her grasp. "An article from a newspaper?"

"Yup." Jack was grinning again, looking quite smarmy at her realization. "That's why it's not a trick. It ain't a real picture so none of you girls has ever been able to get a vision off of that. Not like I actually showed it to any of them," he added, almost as an afterthought. "None of the other Daite girls has ever asked me about any of the fellas before. I had no reason to show it off."

"There's a first time for everything," Diana said, wondering if she should be proud of herself for that. Deciding that, since it was Jack who had said it, it was probably not a compliment, she glanced down at her hand. The way she saw it, there could not be any reason why she should waste time by looking at this cut out from a newspaper if it did not induce a vision (though she definitely was _not _complaining). But, if anything, she was curious by nature and was interested in seeing what Tony Higgins' ancestor, Race, looked like.

Slowly, she unfolded it, taking great care not to rip the thin paper. Some parts of the edges were brittle while others felt as if a particularly strong gust of wind would be enough to tear through the clipping. It was definitely old; she did not even need to look at the image that made up the inside to know that.

However, she did look at it – it was unlike anything she had been expecting. It was a cut out of a picture that had, at one point, been in a newspaper. It was twice as long as it was tall and the reason was obvious: there had to be about twenty young boys featured in the image.

The boys were partially lined up, separated into three rows by height but the shot had been candid. The expression on nearly every single face was one of surprise; the flashbulb must have gone off before any of them were aware that a camera was set in their direction.

Diana had to stifle a giggle at some of the positions that these boys were in. Off to the right, there was a pair of boys – one wearing an eye patch, the other with a wide-eyed stare – nearly caught in an awkward embrace. Just below them, a bespectacled boy with a shock of blond hair seemed to be horizontal as he dove to be immortalized in the shot. A young boy was squished between two boys much taller and a third seemed to be clutching his foot while wearing a grimace of pain.

It amused her to no end that she recognized that boy. With the dark curly hair and light eyes, she knew that that was her great-grandfather's brother, David. She had met him in one of her visions – she tried not to blush at the memory of being caught in her underwear by this very boy; where, then, was her great-grandfather? Was he even in this photograph?

Before she could even ask Jack about Les Jacobs, something else caught her attention. There, right smack dab in the center of the image, with his hands on his hips, and that all too familiar grin on his face, was the ghost boy. That time she could not hold back her laughter. Of them all, it seemed like he was the only one that was prepared when the camera went off. _What a ham. _

Whether on purpose or not, Jack ignored her short laughs; instead, he pointed at the picture in her hand. "July 17th. 1899. We was in the papes."

"We?" Diana asked, tearing her eyes away from the picture to look up at Jack. No doubt about it, he was proud of the fact that he had been in the newspaper.

"Yeah. We had the big newsies strike that summer and this fancy reporter friend of Dave's took our picture and put it in the papers. It was a great strike we had. And we won. Against Pulitzer and Hearst, to boot," he bragged. Then, as if a thought just occurred to him, he said, "You ever hear of it?"

There was a sarcastic retort at the tip of her tongue but, most unlike her, Diana bit it back. Rather, she just said, "Yes. Um… Mr. Kloppman told me something about it, I think."

He nodded before walking around the edge of the bed and meeting her at her side. Though the girl remained sitting, Jack chose to stand; he did, however, lean forward so that he was looking at the picture. Pointer finger extended, he started to name some of the people in the photograph. "See. You got me… Dave, he was the brains… there's Les right there," he said, a dirty fingernail covering the face of the little boy – near ten or so – that was half hidden between Jack and a second boy. "And here's—" he began, his finger moving over so that he was on top of that second boy.

While taller than Les, he was at least a head shorter than Jack. He had dark hair, dark eyes and was wearing a confused expression on his face. His body language was interesting, though. His body was turned and his left arm was slightly lifted, almost as if in a defensive stance.

Diana did not need Jack to tell her who that was. With a certainty that she could not explain, she knew exactly who that was.

"Race." The word came out almost as a sigh. In fact, if Jack had not been saying the name at the exact same moment, she might not have been sure that she even said it.

Not that it mattered really. As soon as the word had escaped her lips, Diana's eyes closed. She was gone.

For the second time in as many minutes, Jack watched as the century old newspaper clipping dropped, forgotten.

--

Thanks a lot, Jack_, Diana thought to herself as she found herself, once again, in the past. _'It ain't a real picture so none of you girls has ever been able to get a vision off of that. Not like I actually showed it to any of them.' And me, being the idiot that I am, I believed him. _Frustrated, Diana threw her hands up in the air and yelled. It actually felt quite good to get that out. _

_As soon as that was out of her system, she turned her attention to her surroundings. She was outside, that was certain, and definitely in New York; while the stench was different from the one than she was used to, it was just as bad – and the obvious heat (_Is it summer here?_) was making it that much worse. The road was rough and unpaved and there was not a single car in sight. _Well, I'm definitely in the past. But when? When the picture was taken or earlier? Or later? Damn it, Jack. I'm never listening to you again! Never, never, nev—

_Her silent vows were cut off when she heard a loud yell. Unless she was mistaken, someone a street or two over had just cried out one word: Brooklyn. It was followed by a quick cheer. _

Brooklyn?

_Diana was just about to start off in that direction but paused when she heard the tell-tale noises of a fight in progress. _Do I really want to check that one out?

_Though the answer was a resounding 'not really', her curiosity got the better of her and she started to shuffle hesitantly in the direction from which the noise was hailing. She made it down the end of the street she was on before turning the corner. Once she had, Diana found herself facing an interesting brawl. There were kids fighting men and, ironically, it looked like the kids were winning. _

_From her position at the end of the street, she could make out a few familiar faces – they were all of the boys that she had been looking at before the photograph sucked her consciousness into the past. She saw Jack, currently shaking hands with the fair haired by who had been holding onto the one-eyed boy in the picture. It was a bit weird, knowing that in this vision that Jack was alive, but she looked past that; instead, she just watched. _

_Whether she missed much of the fight or not, it was over before long. In fact, much of Diana's attention had been torn from the brawl when a middle-aged man in a brown suit, wearing an oddly patterned bowtie, set up his camera in front of her. When the boys finally regrouped at the conclusion of the one-sided fight, the man called out to them. "Jack! Boys! Freeze! Freeze!" _

_Almost as if they were acting in slow motion, Diana watched as these ragtag boys assembled themselves into the strange expressions of surprise she had noted in Jack's clipping. She saw the blond haired boy dive into the shot and watched as David's foot was stepped on, resulting in him jumping up and down, foot in hand. Jack, who had heard his name, assumed that haughty expression in the middle. Many of the other boys just stared dumbfounded as the photographer took the picture. _

_The flashbulb went off in front of her. Though the span of the flash was not much, she was temporarily blinded. She jammed her eyes closed, trying to block out the brightness but, when she chanced opening them back up, she saw that she was gone again. She was no longer in the past… but she was not back in the present either. _

_  
_Uh-oh. Where did I go now?

_She looked in front of her before turning behind her. All she could see was white – nothing more. Diana was reminded of the dream she had with Stress but, at least then she had not been alone. Now, though… there was no one else there. _

_Or was there? _

_"Guess who?" _

_She had been certain that, when she turned to look behind her, there was no one there. However, there was no mistaking the closeness of the voice. Or the strong arms that pinned hers to her side and spun her around. _

_Though she was probably more frightened then than she had ever been before, Diana worked to make sure there was an air of defiance about her when she glared at whoever it was that was manhandling her. But, as soon as she made eye contact with him, the fear took over. _

_It was him. It was the same man that had found her when she was in the middle of watching Les and Rhiannon Jacobs' in their apartment – it was the same man that, according to Stress, had visited her and, likewise, enticed her to forget that he had ever been there. _

_It was Oscar Delancey. _

_"Wh-what do you w-want?" she said, surprise at his proximity causing her to stutter her question. All she could think about right then – besides wondering where she was or why exactly she was there – was what he was doing. No one had been able to offer her any information regarding this… _whatever _he was; perhaps he would oblige her by doing so? Diana did not really think that it would work but whatever choice did she really have? _

_There was a rough burst of laughter that came from him. Diana felt her skin crawl; the rough laughter was reminiscent of long fingernails being ran down a chalkboard. She shivered, trying to push the sound out of her head. _

_"Oh, Diana. I didn't think we'd meet again so soon," he said, leering as he spoke. His hands were squeezing her roughly, making sure that she did not move away from him. It hurt but she knew better than to cry out in pain. She would not give him the satisfaction; somehow she could tell that something like that would excite him. _

_"Yeah, well," she began, slowly – she did not want to stutter again – and through clenched teeth, "I don't think I want to see you at all, you goon." Diana refused to meet his gaze. The unnaturalness of the color made her insides quake with fear and loathing. _

_"A spitfire. I told you I liked that about you," he said oily, his voice layering the words with such malice that she felt dirty, on top of being afraid. Oscar chanced removing one of his hands from her side in order to lift her chin up. Using unnecessary force, the demon jerked her head upwards so that his eyes could search hers. "Then stop getting close, gir—" _

_He paused for a second before lowering his head down to her. He was so close that his nose was touching against hers, tip to tip, as he stared into her eyes. She longed to blink, her eyes watering from prolonged exposure but, for some reason, she found she was unable to do so. _

_Finally, when Diana felt as if she could not stand his hot breath on her any longer, Oscar's lips curved back in a sneer; his canine teeth were longer than any that she had seemed on a human and that only added to her uneasiness. He chuckled lowly, sending a fresh wave of shivers shuddering down her frame. He dropped his hand back to her side, allowing her to turn her head away. _

_"So," he said, as Diana began to blink furiously in an attempt to regain the moisture that his stare had drawn from her, "the bitch is back." _

_Diana froze, mid-blink. _What?

--

Jack waited a few minutes to see if Diana's spell was a fluke. He was almost positive that the photograph would not have an effect on the girl and, to be honest, her fainting worried him a bit. As it was, he had only left the newspaper cut out in his pocket because it reminded him of the good times, the little bit of time he had spent happily before his death. He had never intended to share it with anyone, let alone Diana, and now…

And it was not just that the worn and faded photograph had the ability to capture Diana's senses. Having watched over four different generations of Daite girls when they fell into the past, Jack knew the signs to look out for: vacant staring, slow breathing, rigid form. In one of her earlier visions, Diana had started to shake but he had blamed that on her relative newness to anything supernatural.

However, this time was different. Her eyes, as soon as she fell, had closed. Her body crumpled and lay, almost broken, along the bed. And she was whimpering.

When he could not take the waiting any longer, Jack reached out one of his long fingers. Tentatively, he poked her free flesh, the tip of his finger coming into contact with her forearm. "Diana? Hey, Diana? You okay?"

No response.

Letting his hand relax, he placed the back of it against her flushed cheek. He had meant to try to slap it lightly in an attempt to revive her but, before he had the chance to put that plan into effect, he noticed something. Diana was burning up.

Jack yanked his hand back. There was only one logical explanation as to her sudden warmth but the ghost boy did not want to think about logic; if his hunch was correct, then he would be dealing with something he was unprepared to deal with.

Instead, he took a few steps away from the girl. And then a few more. When he had successfully walked across the length of her room, he took in a deep breath. And then… "Kloppy!"

Kloppman's response to Jack's call was almost immediate. Within a few seconds the old man was at the door, his hand to his chest as he tried to retain the breath he had lost in his mad dash. "Jack? Did you holler?" he asked, surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Something's wrong with her," he said, pointing at the sleeping girl. "Can you help her?" he asked, the words out of his mouth before he knew it. Almost immediately, he regretted his choice of words. Those were the same exact words he had said to Kloppman the night that _she _had died. Jack swallowed. "I mean… something's just… wrong."

Kloppman peered through his glasses as he slowly approached Diana's unconscious form. "Miss Mason? Jack, what happened here?"

"I don't know. She was asking me about Race so I showed her the clipping from the _Sun_. Everything was alright as she looked over all the fellas but then, out of nowhere, she fainted." Jack shook his head, allowing the front strands of his hair to fall forward. "I let her lay there for a few but after a bit… I tried to wake her up, Kloppman. But she wouldn't wake. And, well… the kid is warm."

The elderly butler cast a quick eye over the girl. She did not look as if she was in one of Jack's trances; really, she looked like she was just sleeping. But being warm? That did not sound too good.

Kloppman leaned over and felt Diana's forehead with the back of his hand. Jack had been telling the truth – she was much warmer than she should be. _Much _warmer. Just like Jack had, he had an inkling – a very strong inkling, really – as to what that meant but there was only one way to know for sure. With a delicate touch, Kloppman's wrinkled fingers reached out and lifted one of the girl's eyelids. Rather than find the green eye that had he had been expecting, the old man saw vivid red orbs. Vivid red orbs that, should he stare into them long enough, he would see the swirling flames of Hell within their depths.

He let the fold of skin fall back into place. The evilness of the gaze was out of turn on Miss Mason's face and it gave him – a man who had seen much in his one hundred and seventy five years – the creeps.

Kloppman lifted his head worriedly, meeting Jack's intense gaze. "Cowboy? I think that damn demon's got her again."

The ghost boy sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."


	45. XLV

Author's Note: _Can it be? A Sunday update? Really? Yes. I know. I'm surprised, too. But, on the upside, this was a very fun (and creepy) chagpter to write – hence the earliness of it. I hope you guys enjoy it :) (And thank you so much for the reviews guys – they made me so very happy. Yay!) _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo _translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese._

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

March 11, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY FIVE

--

_Diana did not know how she was supposed to respond to that. Oscar was still staring at her, his blood-colored eyes narrowed on her profile as he continued with his vice-like hold on her arms. She refused to meet his gaze – her eyes were still dry and achy – but his taunt rang in her ears. _'The bitch is back'… what the hell does that mean? Is he talking about me? I hope not… _She could feel the heat of his stare and, despite her resolve not to show this young man just how he was affecting her, she squirmed. "Let me go." _

_"No. I don't think I will. I've been waiting a long time for this." Oscar leaned in and placed his lips against her ear as he whispered to her. The fire of his breath was near unbearable to the girl and, vision or no, she could feel beads of sweat pop up on the right side of her face. The moisture began to trickle down her cheek; it caused her flesh to itch but she was unable to lift her hand to assuage the discomforting sensation. _

_Then again, she did not need to. Almost as soon as she had the thought about the slowly dripping sweat, Oscar took care of it for her – but he did not use his hand or his sleeve. Instead, as Diana could see out of the corner of her eye, he stuck his tongue out and ran it up the length of the side of her face, wiping at the slickness that his very breath had brought about. _

_The touch of his tongue against her flesh was even hotter than his breath. She could hear the tell-tale sizzle of boiling moisture; her stomach flip-flopped, her hands clenched. Faintly, she recognized the scent that had permeated her bedroom that morning: brimstone. _

_Oscar was breathing heavily through his nose, his mouth once again closed, his tongue back where it belonged. His cheek was pressed to hers, and the heat (as well as the sweat) had returned, making their skin stick together. "Diana…" he whispered. It was a slithering, malicious sound that caused her anger to trump disgust. _Who does this idiot think he is? Grabbing at me, acting like he knows me_, she fumed, repulsed at the way he murmured her name. He made the three simple syllables seem dirty somehow. She did not like it one bit. _

_Silently raging, Diana tried to figure out what her next move would be. She was in a vision that, according to Jack, should not even exist; a man was with her – and she was becoming all the more certain with every passing moment that Oscar was not a man. What exactly he was she had no idea but he could not possibly be human. _

_"I couldn't figure out why Master wanted you," Oscar whispered, relaxing his grip on her arms. Slowly, deliberately, he began to run the palms of his hands up and down her bare arms, stopping short when he met the orange cloth of her t-shirt. Though she was still way too warm, his very caress – as unwanted as it was – sent chills down her spine. "You've got spunk, you've got life but you're nothing special, Diana. But he's marked you and I think I know why." _

_"Really?" Diana spit back, jerking her head away from him. He had not expected her to move and, as such, his hold was broken. She was free. She realized that a split second before he did and hurriedly took a step away from him, rubbing roughly at her cheek as she did so. "You seem to know so much, you goon. Why don't you tell me what's going on?" _

_There was a feral grin that split his features as he lowered his gaze. The gesture was one of deference. By escaping his grasp within this black magic-designed dream and shouting her own questions back at him, Oscar ceded the match up to her; he awarded her the point. But that did not mean he was going to tell her anything. _

_"We'll meet again, Diana. You can count on it," he vowed, lifting his eyes. Grudgingly, she met them and was surprised to see that, while still scarlet, the very pupils appeared to be on fire. She took another step back – this time out of surprise, rather than fear or revulsion. The demon laughed. "Whenever you least expect it, I will be there." _

_And, with those parting words, Oscar vanished amidst a rather loud, and echoic, clap of thunder. Diana was left on her own, trapped within the white emptiness. She had just enough time to think, _What the hell was all that?_, before she felt the all too familiar pull of the vision ending. _

--

Her head was pounding and her heart was beating. She could still feel the sticky sweat that coated her cheek but she did not lift a hand to wipe it, nor did she open her eyes for fear that it would be Oscar's face – as unlikely as that would be – that was staring back at her. However, she did let out a moan; it was just enough to let anyone who might be around know that she was both alive and feeling like crap.

When no one responded to her low cry, Diana chanced opening one of her eyes. From what she could tell, from the sliver of the room that she could make out, there was no one there with her – no Jack, no Kloppman… not even her aunt. She was alone.

Strangely enough, she was not sure if she was excited about that prospect or terrified.

To be on the safe side – she just wanted to make sure that that young man had not followed her into her room – she opened both of her eyes wide and looked over the room. It was darker than it had been; it took her a few seconds to realize that her bedroom light had never been turned on and that the sun had already began its daily descent, hiding away behind the myriad of skyscrapers that the City housed.

_What time is it? How long was I out?_ She shook her head, thankful that some of the pounding had subsided, and tried to sit up. It was only then that she realized that she was no longer in the position she had been in before falling into the vision. While she had been sitting on the edge of the bed before, she was now laying smack dab in the center, her head at the headboard. Not only that, she had been tucked in under the great pink comforter.

Diana pushed the blanket away and sat up. She lifted her right hand up to touch her head, and was surprised to find that there was something wet pressed to her skin. Pulling it away, she was even more surprised to see that someone had been considerate enough to settle a cool washcloth over her forehead.

She absently tossed the damp washcloth on the bed beside her before using her hand to wipe at the moisture that coated both her forehead and the back of her neck. It was hard to distinguish what was water and what was sweat; trying not to think of that – it only brought back the disturbing memories of that strange Oscar – she just dropped her hand and kicked the rest of the comforter away from her.

"Diana. You're awake."

The girl, not expecting a voice, especially not a male voice when she was quite obviously alone in the room, started and jumped back. She landed in a pile of pillows that had been neatly organized at the head of her bed. "Who's there?"

With a faint _pop_, Jack appeared by the doorway, a concerned expression on his face. "It's me. Is everything okay?"

For a second, Diana felt like a complete idiot. _Who else would be in here? The bogeyman_? But the feeling did not last; the vision was still too vivid and, even though it was only Jack, his presence unnerved her. She had been better off thinking that she was alone. Still, she did not want to take her uneasiness out on the ghost boy. After all, he looked as if he was worried about her. There was no cockiness, no taunts, no knowing grin. Just concern.

She quirked her lips into what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Yeah… I'm fine."

"Really? Because, well, you didn't look too fine a bit ago. In fact, you looked pretty bad. What happened, kid?"

The grin that followed Jack's statement was a bit more natural. _I should have known that I couldn't hide it from him. I just hope I didn't do anything weird while I was out of it. I can just see it, as soon as that freak… _licked _me, I probably started clawing at my own cheek. It was _that_ creepy. _She gave an involuntary shudder – Jack's eyes narrowed as she shook – and realized that there was no way out of this one. But, maybe if she played her cards right, she could finally get him to tell her who Oscar was. She was pretty sure she deserved to know _now_.

"You want me to tell you, Jack?"

"Yeah, I do."

Diana nodded. "Alright, then. I'll tell you." Slowly, she lifted her hand and placed it against her cheek. She ran her palm down it once, subconsciously erasing any trace of Oscar before she started to tell Jack about her latest vision. Not that it did much – even though her cheek felt clammy, but not wet or sticky, she could still smell brimstone. If anything, the stench was stronger than before.

She sighed. She was not sure how he was going to take the news. In the back of her mind, she could still see the furious way he had looked when he had first been confronted with the scent of brimstone earlier that morning. _Oh, well… here's hoping that he doesn't go nuts on me… _

"Guess what, Jack?" she said, overly cheerful in an attempt to downplay the seriousness of her next statement, "I just met up with Oscar Delancey again."

--

Tony had smelled Oscar's arrival at his small office before the demon had even fully assumed his human form. "Delancey, is that unpleasant aroma you?" he asked, without even glancing up from the paperwork he was perusing. "Damn, reminds me of those times when the sewer would back up during the summer." He shook his head. "Smells like shit."

Oscar lifted his nose into the air and breathed in. When nothing hit him, he lifted one of his arms and sniffed. He shook his head. "I don't smell nothing," he said, defensively. "I mean, just fire and brimstone. The usual. Nothing else."

"Of course you don't," Tony agreed, shuffling through his papers, making a mark with a red pen when it was needed, "You've been walking around with that stink for, well, as long as I've known you. And I'm not referring to your ill-disguised demon odor, either. Your personal scent leaves something to be desired, you oaf."

It took a few seconds for the insults to sink in. When they did, the fire in Oscar's eyes flared up and his fists curled. He opened his mouth to retort but, before he had even said a word, he felt the effects of an intense welling of black magic coming from the man sitting at the desk in front of him. He clamped his mouth shut.

"I'd think about what you were about to say, Delancey, before you go and do something stupid," Tony cautioned, lifting his pointer finger up into the air and wagging it, though his eyes were still glued to his work. He had effectively cut off whatever heated response Oscar had come up with his simple warning. He knew as well as Oscar who was the more powerful of the two. Oscar could intimidate do-gooder ghosts and little girls all he wanted – his power did not come close to equaling, let alone rivaling, Tony's.

That did not mean that Oscar was not annoyed by Tony's obvious display of superiority. He just knew better than to argue with one of the Devil's men. And Tony – as he had been since the moment of his tragic death, when he offered to roll the Devil for a chance to be reincarnated – was one of the Devil's men; at the very least, the ex-gambler ranked much higher than a soul collector.

_Let it never be said, _Oscar thought to himself as he fought down the urge to throw fire at Tony's condescending finger, _that the Master does not have a sense of humor. He must get his kicks by matching up people who have history. You got me and Cowboy, fighting each other again – all over the same dumb broad. And, not only that, but I'm taking orders from Racetrack Higgins. I thought I left all that behind me when I got offed. _

He shook his head. Though it was great fun to continually remind his old adversary what waited for him when the deadline finally came, he could not wait until this particular job was over with. It was much easier just to retrieve dead souls than to deal with an extensive curse like this one.

As much as Oscar had hated Jack Kelly back when they were kids, he had always harbored a deep grudge against Racetrack. A wise-cracking bookie, the Higgins boy always let his running mouth compensate for his diminutive size; he used words rather than his fists. And Oscar had never been good with words.

Even now, nearly one whole century after that one night – the night that had tied everyone's fate together, with the exception of Blink Moore; somehow the one-eyed boy had escaped it all – Oscar still fell prey to his smooth way with words. Whether Tony was insulting him or giving him an explicit order, the demon boy had to listen to him.

And he was not about to involve the Master because a childhood-age grudge kept him from respecting the other demon's higher rank.

He exhaled loudly, the closest he could get to showing his frustration with Tony, and removed his old bowler hat. Oscar tossed it onto one of the two vacant seats that sat opposite of the grand mahogany desk. He sat down in the second, trying not to think about just why his partner needed two seats in the room; as far as he knew, this office was only necessary as a front for his adopted human identity.

Assuming it was just another thing for him to lord over Oscar – who, as a soul collector, was only allowed to speak with the souls he was claiming, except for such rare occasions as Jack's Devil's curse – he decided to wait until Tony was finished with whatever it was he was doing. He needed to speak to him.

Oscar could not tell if Tony really was submerged in reading over his papers or if he was just putting forth the pretense in order to make the demon wait. It grew quite annoying after a few minutes of complete silence. He started to tap his leather shoes against the carpeted floor of the office. Tony never once removed his falsely colored dark eyes from his reading.

Finally, just when Oscar was preparing to go out and resume his other duties – he got a great thrill out of bringing the deserving souls into Hell – Tony shuffled his papers together and set them off to the side of his desk. He folded his hands and sat up straight. "Alright, Delancey. I'm sure you think you have a good reason for intruding in on the mortal world. What is it?"

Even though the pair of them had been working together for nearly seventy-five years – not soon after his death, Tony had been given a minor part in watching over Jack and whichever Daite girl was helping him at the time; it was only when the end was in sight that his role grew exponentially – it still was unnerving to deal with this adult version of Racetrack. The joker's grin had long since vanished from his face, replaced by wrinkles and creases; however, the cocky air that had surrounded him during his childhood had remained.

Oscar nodded his head slowly. Perhaps it was a foolish idea, running straight to Tony after his latest encounter with Diana Mason – but, then again, there was no mistaking what it was that he had seen. And, in that case, Tony had to know.

"Yeah, Tone," he said, using a form of his current name. It had taken a bit of time to break the habit of calling him Racetrack or Higgins but the man refused to answer to either. It was Tony or nothing, he had said. Oscar was not about to argue over something so stupid; then again, he had always thought that the ridiculous nicknames the old newsboys had adopted was stupid, too. "It's… well… You see—"

"Spit it out, Delancey. We don't have time for your idiotic games."

As if he needed reminding that the hundred years were nearly up. He had the Devil breathing down his neck, telling him that it was his job to receive Diana Mason's soul at the very least – it would be impossible to forget that, within a few short weeks, the time would be over. Especially now that, with this new revelation, he doubted that Jack and Diana even needed that much time. At the rate that the fourth generation girl was manipulating her fate to gather facts, they would discover the truth by the end of this week.

Just the thought that all their hard work would be wasted made him antsy. He started to fidget in his seat. "I ain't playing any games, Tony. Something… something's gone down."

Tony did not look the least bit worried. Almost as if he was humoring the lesser demon, he smirked. "Oh, really? And what was that?"

Oscar tried his hardest to block out the patronizing tone. "The girl… the new one…"

"Yes. Diana," Tony supplied. "I met her. She doesn't seem like no great shakes at figuring nothing out, if you ask me."

_Well, shows how much you know_, Oscar thought to himself. Far from being nervous, he now had to battle his own smirk from coming to his face. If Tony was not preoccupied with Diana, then maybe he should not say anything; he could handle the girl by himself and get the credit for the retrieval – as well as the Devil's approval.

As good as Oscar was at being bad, Tony had decades of experience at reading poker faces. He knew right away that his subordinate was about to lie to him. He lifted an eyebrow. "And, apparently, my first impression of the girl was wrong. What do you know, Delancey?"

Oscar decided not to pussyfoot around. As much as he hated to admit it, Tony was right. They had no time – and it was pointless trying to deceive the other demon. If they were to please the Master, they would have to work together. "The girl… she was asking about you. Well, not _you_ you," Oscar amended, trying to clarify what he was saying, "but _Racetrack_ you. Turns out Cowboy showed her the picture of you bu— you newsies, back from the damn strike of '99. 1899. And it actually brought the kid back there. Tony, she was going to talk to you if I didn't get there first."

"And? So what? I didn't know nothing about nothing back during the strike," Tony said, not impressed. "Life was selling papers, rolling dice and trying to stay out of the Refuge. None of that would help the girl with Cowboy's curse."

"I know that. But…"

"But what?" He was beginning to get frustrated. Tony could not handle Oscar Delancey on his good days. Right now, the wayward hoodlum turned Devil's helper was just being obnoxious. If he had been able to ditch him years ago, he would have. Of course, that would have meant that he'd have to reveal himself to Jack – and he was not ready to do that yet.

Oscar shook his head. He did not like Tony's tone of voice. It reminded him of how his Uncle Wiesel would sound when Oscar and his older brother, Morris, got into trouble. He gulped. He was sure that what he had to say next would not sit well with Tony. "She wasn't alone, Tony. I saw her. The dead bitch. When I was working the kid over, I looked in her eyes. She ain't alone. There's two of them in there, I swear it."

There was a quiet moment of comprehension. It was extremely tense – it would be possible to slice through the tension with a proper knife. Oscar shifted in his seat, preparing himself for Tony's response.

Tony surprised him – he just laughed.

Oscar winced. It was not what he had been expecting and, even worse, the laugh was not a pleasant sound. It almost hurt him to hear it.

"Is that all? You had me going there for a second, Delancey." Tony laughed again and, this time, saw the pained look that crossed the demon's face. He shook his head. "Calm down. Here," he said, reaching into his suit jacket. He pulled out a fresh cigar – _Coronas de Luxe – _and stuck it in his mouth before slipping his hand back inside his inner pocket. When he withdrew his hand the second time, he had an unlit red cylindrical stick between his fingers. He tossed it at Oscar. "Have one on me."

Oscar caught it. He narrowed his eyes at the stick, recognizing it at once as _Red Death_. He stuck it between his lips. He was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Thanks," he said, moving his lips around the red cigarette.

Tony bit the end of his cigar off and spat it out onto his desk. Once again placing the cigar back in his mouth, he blinked once; both the cigar and the cigarette were lit. He puffed on his expensive Cuban cigar twice. When he spoke, thick tendrils of potent smoke spilled out of his mouth.

"I ain't surprised to hear that, Delancey. I knew her before she went and got herself killed. She always had to be involved in everything. If there was anyway that she could get her hands on Diana Mason, she would. But, it makes sense. No wonder the Master wants the brat's soul. He'll get three souls for no work. It's brilliant."

Removing his _Red Death _from his mouth, Oscar nodded hurriedly, knowing that it was prudent to agree with Tony on the Devil's worth. "Yes, Master is all powerful but, Tony, what… what if she helps the girl? Tells her what happened? What if they win before Cowboy sells them out?" he asked, true nerves finding their way to his voice. He did not want to think about how the Devil would respond to losing the souls he had his eyes on. Nervously, he slipped the red stick back into his mouth and took a rather long drag, causing the end of it to flare up and burn through half of the cigarette. When he exhaled, the ink-colored smoke hung heavily above him like a storm cloud.

Tony tried not to flinch at the sight of Oscar's blood-red teeth, or the pitch-black smoke that flowed around his head. If only for that reason did he choose to stick with cigars, rather than switch over to the Devil's own. Keeping his mind on the work at hand, Tony said, speaking around the thick cigar, "They won't. Don't worry. I have it all taken care of."

He took the cigar out of his mouth and flicked it, sending the ashes onto the pale grey carpet. The corner of his mouth turned upward, leaving a very evil grin on his handsome face. Just for that moment, he let his eyes fade to those belonging to his demonic form. "Tomorrow evening I have an invitation into the cursed building. One way or another, we collect the souls then."

This time, when he laughed, Oscar Delancey joined in.


	46. XLVI

Author's Note: _Yeah, these chapters just keep growing. And, unfortunately for you guys, I pushed another scene back until next chapter – the result being that this one might qualify as ending on a cliffhanger. But Jack and Diana have a nice long talk, so that makes up for it (somewhat). So, yes, read and all that good stuff. I also want to take this time and computer space to plug: _Prelude to a Curse_, in case you haven't heard about it yet. It's a companion piece to this story – four chapters or so – that explains just how Jack died. Two chapters are done so far and the scene with the Devil is coming up soon ;) So you should go and read/review that after you do that here. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

March 19, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY SIX

--

Jack was quiet for a second. Though Diana would never be able to tell from his face – he lowered his head as he thought – he was quickly trying to come up with a response to her way-too-cheerful admission of meeting up with Oscar Delancey. He could, he figured, tell her that he already knew that but he was not sure, exactly, how she would react upon finding out that the demon had actually _possessed _her during her vision.

He was positive, now, that that was how Oscar had visited the girl; the flames overtaking her regular-colored eyes were proof of that. Jack just did not want to tell her. If he knew Diana, and he thought he did by now, then she would not like to hear about that at all.

Then again, did he really _have _to tell her what he knew? A fresh wave of brimstone had eked its way into the bedroom while Diana rested. Just like he had known upon his first arrival in the room that morning, it was an unmistakable sign that an agent of the Devil had been there. He could use that as his excuse. _Yeah… that works… _

He lifted his head up, meeting her eyes. For a brief second, he stared right at Diana's face. He was glad to see that the searing red had faded back to the warm green; those eyes were watching him apprehensively, darting to and fro as she kneaded her bottom lip with her teeth. She obviously had not forgotten the earlier confrontation concerning Oscar's presence in her bedroom. Either that, or she had just left a vision that worried her.

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. He did not like seeing Diana like this. When she had told him, while they were in the kitchen together, that he had frightened her, the implications of her words had stung. In the time that he had known her – and it seemed so much longer than it really was, for some strange reason – he had seen Diana in a variety of moods: inquisitive, confused, curious… even angry. But not nervous… until now. And seeing her like that made _him _nervous.

Finally, aware that she was waiting for him to say something, he obliged her with a simple, "I know."

Diana threw up her hands in defense. "Now wait a second, Jack. It's not what you th—" It was as if she had the words already waiting on the tip of her tongue; she was halfway through her argument before the meaning of those two simple words sunk in. _I know_. She paused mid-sentence and lowered her hands cautiously. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously. "You… you know?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Oh." She had shifted back into the position she had been in before the vision. Her legs were swung over the edge of the bed, her hands resting in her lap. She was purposely staring straight in front of her but, after a few minutes of silence – she was the one thinking this time – she turned back to look at Jack. The ghost boy had not moved from his place at the door. Swiveling her body, Diana moved so that she was resting on her right knee. "You want to tell me _how _you know?"

Jack snorted. "Now if this ain't déjà vu, or something."

She was definitely inclined to agree with that. It seemed like they were _just _going back and forth with each other, debating the same exact thing. She shook her head, while smiling pointedly at him. "Ah, yes, but this time I don't plan on doing anything to make my head hurt. And, besides, the way I see it, we can make another deal. That is… if you're game."

Though he had never been that big of a gambler – he left that to Racetrack; boy could come up with odds for nearly everything, even if his luck down at Sheepshead Bay was never much – there was something about the way Diana proposed making a deal that peaked his interest, without even hearing the terms first. The lilt at the end of her statement all but suggested that, should he decline her offer, she would think less of him. And, given how their relationship had gone in the near week since they had met, Jack was not sure if he could afford that. It was almost a matter of pride.

Somehow, in that same, short span of time, Diana Mason had learned to read Jack Kelly. And, for once, rather than bombard the ghost boy with a barrage of questions, she decided to take another route: like the earlier deal the pair had worked out, she would propose a trade of information.

Jack, she assumed, was the sort who could not resist making a deal – as long as there was something big in it for him. His Devil's curse was a prime example. The Devil offered him a century to find Stress's murder in exchange for his life and, if he failed, his soul. Drunk or not, Jack had accepted. And, after all, he had been the one to propose another deal: answers for visions.

It was tit for tat, really, and, from what she knew about the boy, Diana doubted he would refuse. Hesitate, perhaps, before his curiosity got the better of him, but not refuse. She was surprised, and a little annoyed, that it took her this long to figure that out. If she had known that earlier, she could have gotten much farther in figuring out this strange mystery.

He looked at Diana for a second, almost appraising her, before nodding. He turned around, closed the bedroom door behind him, and walked across the room. He did not take his seat on the bed, preferring, instead, to stand at the edge, his hands crossed over his chest. "Alright, I'll bite. What sort of deal do you have in mind?" His tone did not sound suspicious, just curious.

A new hand had been dealt and the cards were all in her possession. She had to play this just right. "Simple, really. I'll tell you what just happened between me and Oscar, you tell me what you can about him. I'll even go first. How does that sound?"

With his pointer finger, Jack scratched at his chin, clearly weighing his options. He could keep what he knew away from Diana but, if he did, then she would not tell him what had just passed between her and the demon. Or he could give in – where, all he really had to do was agree, listen to what Diana told him, and then add a bit to her story (depending on what he already knew). That way, he satisfied the terms of the deal while not going against what Kloppman said.

He nodded. "It's a deal." Uncrossing his arms, he let his hands fall to his sides as he bumped his knees into the mattress. "So, what did Delancey do to you?"

Taking only a second to gloat over the fact that she had been right about Jack, Diana moved her body so that she was actually facing Jack. She tucked her legs under her before falling back again on her rear, landing in a cross-legged position. She tilted her head back slightly so that she was meeting the ghost boy's eyes. "It was really weird. I was in the past again because, yeah, your newspaper does work, surprise, but it didn't last that long. I mean, I was there when the picture was snapped and then… I wasn't."

"You saw the picture being taken?" Jack asked, actually interested. "Did you see me? How'd I look?"

Diana shook her head. "I did see you – you looked just like you do now. I saw Les Jacobs, too, and David. And some random kid was yelling Brooklyn."

"Yeah, that would have been Spot Conlon."

She snapped her fingers. "You know, I should have known that. In one of the visions I had with my great-grandmother, she was talking about a Spot Conlon and his fixation with Brooklyn." She snorted. "It really is a small world, after all."

Jack looked confused. "What vision with Rhiannon was that one, kid?"

_Oopsie. I didn't mean to tell Jack about that one, did I… _Instead of answering that, she chose to change the subject. "Anyways, it got all white and then he was there. Oscar, that is. And he was really weird. Talking about he didn't think he'd see me again and that, if I don't want to see him, I need to stop getting close. I don't know. That's when he grabbed me by the arms and pulled me close to him. He started breathing on me and, wow, is he hot. And I don't mean good-looking."

She lifted her hand to her cheek and rubbed at it again. "He was so hot that just being near him made me sweat and, if that wasn't gross enough, he started to _lick _me. With his tongue. I got away from him at that point but that's when he told me that I was marked. Marked by the Devil, he said. And, trust me, I have no idea what he meant by that." She shuddered. "The next thing I knew, I was awake and in bed with a washcloth on my head."

"That was Kloppy," nodded Jack, waving his hand behind his back, gesturing absently at the door. "After you were out for a bit, I went to move you and I noticed you were really warm. I called for Kloppman to give me some help and he thought you might have come down with a fever while you were sleeping. He got the compress and I told him that I should leave you alone. That's why I was invisible. Just in case he came back, or, worse, Ria."

Trying not to think about two men moving her under her comforter – she trusted the butler a lot more than the ghost boy, so it was a relief to know he was there to help – Diana nodded. At least Jack had not told Kloppman that she had disappeared into a newspaper clipping. She could just see the old man running to tell his employer that her niece was a nut. "Well that explains that one, at least. But now it's my turn. Who _was _that guy?"

Jack shrugged, his mind slightly whirring as he tried to process all that Diana told him. It fit in with a lot of what he knew about Oscar's character. When he was alive, Oscar had definitely been a skirt chaser and a perverted one to boot. He was most definitely evil, too; the way he manhandled Diana showed that trait. And she knew that something was up because Oscar mentioned the Devil. Now, what could he add to that that would not get him in trouble with Kloppman?

He could not tell her that it was Oscar's job to watch over Jack and make sure that he followed the rules. He also could not tell her that Oscar was one of the Devil's men, though he was positive that the girl had figured that out on her. And he most certainly could not tell her that the Devil was gunning for her very soul.

Sighing, he said, "That was Oscar Delancey. He… he's part of the curse." Diana's fists began to clench and he knew that he needed to offer more than that. "He's on the other side, you could say. He doesn't want me to win. It's kind of his job to make sure that I don't."

"What the hell does he want with me?"

"You're my helper. If he can't get to me, he'll get to you. I mean, think about it. What can I do? I can't see the images like you do. You're more of a liability to him. I guess that makes you the target." Not entirely what he had wanted to tell her but, hey, it was better than the other part of the truth: that Oscar was a dead demon who collected souls for the self-proclaimed Lord of Hell.

She did not look too upset at the news – more annoyed than anything. "What if I don't want to be a target? I said I'd help you, Jack, because I felt bad. Nowhere in the fine print did it say that some weird kid would start licking me in my dreams. And to be a target of the bad guys? Uh-uh. I don't think so."

He held up his hands. "It's not entirely like that. They can't _hurt _you or anything. You're just a kid. Oscar's probably just having his fun with you."

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel better," she said, sarcasm dripping of her every word. "It's great to hear that I'm a play toy for your enemy."

"Don't be like that, Diana. Remember, one month and I'm gone. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

She pointed a finger at him accusingly. "What's this about one month, again? You keep telling me it's two."

_Whoops_. "It _is_ two. You're confusing me. I thought we were talking about Oscar and now you're yelling about the time limit again," Jack said, trying to pin his slip-up on the girl. "Look at you, changing the…"

He stopped mid-sentence and closed his mouth. It was quiet as she watched him cock his head and partially close his eyes. It appeared as if he was listening to something only he could hear. His mouth dropped, his lips moved slightly but no sound came out. And then he nodded.

"Uh, Jack," she began hesitantly, trying to get his attention, "everything alright?" Their mini-fight forgotten, she looked at him curiously. He had spaced out again – she hated it when he did that. It made her nervous.

Shaking his head, he seemed to see her again. "What? Uh, yeah. But it's time for me to go," he told her abruptly. She must have appeared stunned – or, more likely, confused – and he laughed. "Hey, I've been here all day, you know. And, unless you want to share your bed with me, or something, I have to get back to Four."

The girl felt her cheeks heating up at his suggestion. "Not even if you were sick and dying," she snapped at once. It took a second for what she said to sink in and, when it did, she felt her blush deepen. "Or if you were alive. I mean, since you're dead and all," she added, trying to explain. She shook her head, feeling her point was lost and that Jack, by her own admitted stupidity, had just won. "Forget it, Jack. But you ain't ever sleeping in my bed."

"Agreed," he said, quite smarmily. He had only said it to get under Diana's skin and he was pleased to see that it had worked. He bowed his head in a mock exit greeting before reaching under his left arm; the stack of pictures he had brought with him that morning were tucked safely there. He gripped them by the piece of twine and tossed them at Diana. It landed right in her lap. "Hold onto those for me, kid. You'll never know when you might need them."

She snorted in response, purposely flipping the pictures over. Jumping into one of his photograph-induced visions was the last thing she needed just then.

Jack raised his hand, his fingers poised, ready to snap. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait a sec, Jack," she said, holding up her own hand, palm facing outward, in an effort to stall him. She still had not lost that sense of embarrassment – she could still feel the fire in her cheeks – but her curiosity kept that at bay while she called out to him. "What time tomorrow? I want to make sure that I'm showered, dressed and all that before you pop in here."

Jack smirked. The reference to Saturday morning did not go by unnoticed. "Let's just say that I'll get here when I get here," he said vaguely, with a hint of an amused grin, before snapping his fingers. With the faint _pop _that she considered his trademark, he was gone.

Diana remained in her same position – the pictures, facedown, sitting in the gap made by her legs – for a few minutes after Jack left the room. Thinking about what he had just told her, she shook her head. In one respect, she had been correct: he could not resist making the deal. But, she had underestimated him. She had believed that he would actually uphold his end of his bargain – and he did…sort of.

She was aware more than ever how much of a knack Jack had for twisting his answers around until no one knew what exactly he was saying. Somehow, she knew that had been his aim. And, before she had even been able to add another word to the conversation, Jack was gone.

_Stupid ghost. _

--

She had not even had the chance to rise from the bed and stretch her legs before she heard the gentle rapping of knuckles against her bedroom door. Only a smidge startled – she had not been expecting the sound and it made her jump – she glanced down at her watch. The hands read that it was half past six and she understood: Ariadne must have just come home from the office.

Her assumptions were proven true not more than five seconds later. "Diana? Are you in there?" It was her aunt.

_Is that why Jack left all of a sudden? He knew she was coming home? But how? I don't get it. That's kind of weird. _So wrapped up in her thoughts, she did not reply right away. She heard the faint knock again.

Figuring that the woman on the other side of the closed door was waiting for an answer, Diana cleared her throat. "Yes. I'm here," she yelled out in response, quickly unfolding her legs as she heard the doorknob begin to turn. She had just enough time to pick up the pictures and shove them under her stack of pillows before stretching out on the bed. She brought a welcoming grin to her face and let her hands settle inconspicuously in her lap. "How are you, Aunt Ria?"

The door swung inward and the impeccably dressed older woman strode purposely forward. There seemed to be something on her mind; at any rate, she did not think there was anything suspicious about the way that Diana was presenting herself. "Hello, dear. I wanted to talk to you. This afternoon I—" she began before pausing abruptly. She had only taken about five steps into the room but, a few feet away from the end of the bed, she stopped, sniffing lightly. A disgusted expression crossed her face. "Diana, what _is _that? It smells horrendous."

_The brimstone. I forgot all about that_, Diana realized. Quickly, she looked over her shoulder and saw that the window was still open. She pointed at it, bringing her aunt's attention to the open gap. "I'm sorry. I got a little stuffy earlier and opened the window. I'm not sure what the smell is but it started seeping in from outside." She did a little apologetic shrug, hoping that Ariadne believed her story. "You get used to it after awhile."

She could see her aunt struggling to control her features. It took a few seconds for the older woman to realize that, if she breathed through her mouth rather than her nose, the smell did not assault her senses as much. When she did, she brought the dignified expression back to her face. "I'm not surprised. There are some interesting scents around the City during the summertime."

"I figured that one out the other night. Phew," Diana agreed, covering up her relief that Ariadne believed her with a joke and a smile.

"Yes, well," Ariadne continued, patting down the side of her business suit, obviously flustered, "I just wanted to let you know that I'm home. I told Alfred not to worry about dinner or anything tonight. I'm going to take care of it. Which," she added, a bit of a mischievous twinkle coming to her green eyes, "of course, means take-out. What would you like, Diana? I thought we could watch some movies and just, what do you kids say? Pig out?"

The offer was so very tempting. All she had had to eat so far that day was an apple – to sit down and eat a big meal sounded great. Not to mention, relaxing with her aunt and watching movies… With the exception of Saturday and Sunday, when her mother was in New York, she had spent barely any time with her aunt during her vacation.

But, if there was one thing that Diana learned in life, it was this: when an adult starts offering up things to a child, they're either guilty or… guilty. Hoping to call Ariadne out on a bluff – she could not figure out why her aunt would be guilty; Diana knew from the beginning that she would be spending the afternoons alone while Ariadne was at work – she raised her eyebrows. "That sounds great, Aunt Ria. What's the catch?"

Ariadne appeared taken aback. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. She looked like that for a few seconds before pursing her lips and letting out a small chuckle. "When your mother told me to watch out for you, Diana, I laughed it off. But you are quite the intuitive one, aren't you?" She shook her head playfully. "And it's not that it's a catch, per se…"

_Ah-ha, I knew it. _"See, now, when a grown-up says 'per se', that just means that they don't want to admit that they've been caught," Diana offered back, smiling.

Ariadne laughed a second time, louder than before. "It's more like a deal," she began, to which Diana inwardly groaned while keeping up the pretense of her grin. She had definitely had enough of deals for awhile – she was not too keen on signing up for another one. However, she doubted that she really had a choice in the matter. "Tonight, me and you will have a regular ladies' night… put on some pajamas, order in some food, watch some videos… and then, tomorrow, we'll have a dinner guest."

The smile died on Diana's lips. The last part of her aunt's offer came out as a hurried rush, followed by a tentative smile, as if the older woman was looking for Diana's approval. But, seeing as the girl had an inkling as to who her aunt's guest would be, Diana found it hard to act excited. Already, at the thought of that man coming into the apartment, her stomach began to squirm. Mentally crossing her fingers, she said, "It wouldn't be Mr. Higgins, would it?"

The woman bobbed her head. "Yes. I… I invited him to have dinner with us." She bit her lip. "Do you mind, Diana?"

As much as she wanted to say 'yes', she knew she could not. Ariadne looked so hopeful. _She really likes him_, Diana knew. She shook her head. "Not at all, Aunt Ria," she lied, "It'll be… interesting."

Her stomach jerked again and, not for the first time, she felt that familiar sensation of loathing – the same feeling she had known when she first met the man. And, what made it even worse, was that nothing she had learned about him had explained away her irrational dislike of him. She sighed.

Whether or not Ariadne heard the sigh or the utter dullness of her niece's tone, her face only illustrated her excitement, breaking out into a true grin. "I really appreciate that, Diana. And we'll have a great time tonight. I'll go order dinner now and set up the old VCR. What would you like? Pizza? Chinese? I could run out to McDonald's if you'd like."

Ariadne's relief that the teenager was not throwing a fit about her dinner date was obvious and Diana felt guilty – it was like the guilt had transferred from one woman to the next. "Uh… pizza sounds great."

"Pizza it is then," the older woman nodded, still grinning. "Any toppings? Pepperoni? Onions? Those little black olive things?"

Diana shook her head. "Plain's fine."

She clasped her hands together. "Good. I'll go place the order. We'll have dinner here in a half an hour or so. Is that all right?" Again with the aim to please. It was really beginning to bother Diana –it was as if Tony's control over Ariadne was so great that the woman would do anything in order to ensure that their dinner date the next evening would go smoothly.

"That's great. I'll… I'll go change into something more comfortable," Diana said, gesturing to her orange t-shirt and jeans, covered in wrinkles from sleeping in the outfit. The back of the shirt was still somewhat damp with sweat and the water from the compress Kloppman had made; she could not wait to change out of them. "I'll meet you out in the den in a little bit."

"It's a date then," Ariadne agreed before turning to leave the room. She walked briskly forward, resuming a bit of her normal swagger. In fact, it was almost as if she was walking a bit straighter, too – like a heavy weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

As she exited through the threshold, Ariadne reached behind her and closed the bedroom door with a firm tug, much to Diana's relief. If she had not, the girl would have gotten up and done it herself. An idea had just popped into her mind and, when she started to process it and work through it, she did not want any witnesses.

If she was going to act like she was insane, she wanted to make sure she was alone first.


	47. XLVII

Author's Note: _You guys have Kez and her amazing 1K a day challenge to thank for this update. I'm trying to have this story completed by mid-June so, with that incentive and the idea of a challenge, I'm going to try to have update twice a week rather than once. I'm not promising a regular update day but there _will _be updates. Aren't you excited? Woot. And, I hope you guys like this chapter. There's a part in here that I'm sure you guys with all have a little chuckle over, too. So, yes… enjoy! _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

March 23, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY SEVEN

--

Just because Ariadne had shut the door behind her, and Jack made a great show of leaving the apartment before the woman had arrived, Diana was not entirely confident that she was alone – in the back of her mind, she had the nagging suspicion that she would feel like that for as long as this curse went on.

As it was, the last thing she needed at that moment was to have her aunt, the elderly butler or (especially) the ghost boy walk in on her. And those were only the people that she knew of; after the whole confusion regarding Oscar Delancey, she would not be surprised if there was someone else floating around in the bedroom. It was almost as if her earlier reservations about the room were right. She had thought that, when Kloppman was telling her the story of Jack and Stress, he was telling her that the guestroom was haunted but he had denied that – she was more inclined to think that the old man was lying at this point.

Climbing out of the bed, she put her feet on the floor and stood up. Placing her hands warningly on her hips, she looked around purposely. "Jack? Are you still here?" Though she did not expect him to actually admit that he was there if he was, Diana listened intently for any sounds that might give him away. She made a face that told any lingering specters that, if she found them, they would wish that they had vanished when they said they would.

When all she heard were the outside sounds of a metropolitan center at work, she lowered her hands and lost her guarded expression. She was satisfied that she was alone – for now.

Exhaling briskly, Diana turned around and walked over to the side table that was set beside her bed. The strange 'Fate' box was still there, closed, with the stuffed Bambi toy lying lopsidedly next to it. She stared at the doll for a few seconds, wondering how it moved considering that the last time she saw the toy it was sitting on the bed. Assuming it to be Kloppman's doing – he was the butler, after all, and it was his job to keep the apartment neat – she reached out and patted Bambi's head reassuringly before lowering her hand and grabbing the handle to the single drawer.

With the fingers of her free hand crossed, she yanked it open. She had not taken the opportunity to snoop in there yet and she was hoping that, perhaps, this drawer would happen to house the exact thing she needed at that very moment. It was a long shot and, when the contents of the small drawer were revealed, she was not really that disappointed to see that the object she was searching for was not there.

That did not mean that the drawer was empty. As she pulled the drawer out towards her, a small, plastic grey jewelry box slid forward, bouncing off the inside with the force of her tug. Though her plan was not forgotten, Diana put it on hold as she reached in and scooped up the box; the curiosity of wondering what was in the small, square box was stronger just then.

It was not covered in blood like the 'Fate' box and, for that, Diana was relieved; it was, however, coated in dust nearly half an inch thick. Using the thumb on her right hand, she brushed off the lid, letting the dust drift downward and settle, forgotten, on the carpet. The jewelry box was of an awkward fashion and it took her a second of running her fingers along the side to figure out just how to open it.

The box opened with a small _snick_ noise. There, nestled on an aged piece of cotton, was a tarnished silver chain. There were no special adornments on the piece of jewelry; it was plain and, quite obviously, old. Carefully, she lowered her pointer finger into the box before hooking it under the chain and removing it from the box.

While it was sitting inside the box, the chain had been crumpled, making it difficult to determine the length that the minute, handcrafted links extended. Once it was out, and she used two fingers to stretch it, she discovered that it was the perfect size for a necklace. It was actually quite nice, its obvious flaws not withstanding.

_All it needs is some silver polish and it'd be really nice, _Diana thought to herself as she held it up to get a better look at it. It was growing progressively darker in the room – it was definitely well-past sunset – and it was difficult to gage just how old the simple piece of jewelry was. _I just wonder whose it is. Especially since no one ever stays in this room. Maybe Aunt Ria stuck it in here and forgot about it… _

Shrugging, she placed it delicately back into the box. There was a snap as she pushed the lid back down. She did not place the jewelry box back into the side table drawer; rather, she left it out, beside the 'Fate' box. When she had the chance to worry about such trivialities, it would be nice to ask Ariadne about it.

Lifting her knee up, she used it to close the drawer as she wiped the dust from her fingertips onto her jeans. Now that that was over with, her mind was once again on the task at hand. She was in need of a mirror but was not about to use the one in the bathroom. She remembered Jack telling her, the first night they met, that the bedroom had some kind of… spell, or something on it so that anyone outside of it could not hear it when they spoke; she just hoped the same was true when regarding other supernatural guests.

That's when it dawned on her. She hurried across the room, flicking the light switch to the on position. Her eyes squinted at the rush of light that flooded the room but it did not slow her as jogged back over to the bed. Dropping to her knees before spreading out so that she was lying on her stomach, Diana shimmied under the bed, her arms outstretched. As soon as she made contact with the familiar plastic handle of the largest piece of her luggage, she pulled it out.

She drew herself to her knees, not even bothering to rise up off of the floor, before undoing the two clasps on the suitcase. Though she had never been much of a fan of make-up, her mother had included a case with the bare essentials: cleanser, foundation, blusher and a little case that contained three different shades of purple eye shadows. When she unpacked her suitcase Saturday afternoon, she had not needed the case and chose to leave it in her suitcase.

But, as she grabbed the case, zipped it open and dumped out its contents, she remembered something else that her mother had insisted on providing: a compact mirror.

With a satisfied grin, she pulled out the black, circular mirror. Diana did not bother putting all of the tubes and containers back into the case, preferring to just shove them all haphazardly back into the main part of the luggage. She stood up, mirror in hand, kicking the suitcase back onto the bed before plopping back down on the edge of the bed.

Just like she had done with the jewelry box, she struggled to get the compact open. It took her a second to figure out which part she was supposed to pull, in contrast to the little nub she was supposed to push and, by the time it was finally open, Diana was thinking that it might just have been easier to chance using the bathroom.

Finally, just when her frustration was about to entice her to toss the trinket, it popped open. She shifted the mirror in her hand so that it was comfortable to hold while, at the same time, it showed her entire reflection.

She looked at the reflective glass and stuck her tongue out at what she saw. There were heavy circles under her eyes and her curls – thanks to the water that dripped from the compress – had begun to frizz; the hair was flat and the ponytail was hanging loosely at the nape of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed. Overall, she was a mess.

Diana closed her eyes. She did not look for a mirror just to see how the day's events had affected her appearance; she had a different purpose. "Stress," she said, trying not to dwell on how silly it was to try to channel a ghost through a handheld mirror, "I need to see you. If… uh… if you can, you know, come here, I'd appreciate it. I got a mirror," she added, trying to sound persuasive.

There was a snicker, a small laugh that the owner did not even bother to hide. "It's hard to see me with your eyes closed, you know."

Her eyes sprung open and she focused on the small glass in her hand. Though the image was fuzzy and smaller than it would be in the much larger bathroom mirror, there was no mistaking the dead girl; she looked exactly the same, down to the white robe she wore. "Stress."

"Diana," she greeted, her golden eyes twinkling. "I'm surprised to see you. I mean, I ain't too good at understanding how all of this works but I didn't know you could call me to you."

"I didn't either," Diana admitted, relieved that her hunch had actually worked. She needed advice and she had no idea how to contact Jack – not that she expected him to help her at all with this; Stress just seemed like the perfect person to talk to about her concerns. "I just remembered how you appeared in the mirror when you wanted to talk, so I thought I'd try with my own mirror."

Diana watched as Stress lifted her head up, then down, then side to side. She nodded, wrinkling her nose. "A little cramped in here, but it'll do."

"You're not really in there, are you?" She sounded taken aback as she tapped her finger urgently against the glass. The idea that the girl was actually inside the mirror unnerved Diana – she would feel incredibly guilty if that was the case.

Stress heard the worried tone in Diana's voice and shook her head, taking pity on the fourth generation girl. "No. I'm still inside of you, I guess." She paused. Diana winced. It was not that pleasant being continually reminded that there was a spirit residing within you. "It's complicated, I think, but I doubt that's why you tried to call for me. Is there something I can do for you?"

She was not too sure how to word this, considering she did not know how much Stress had seen, or how much she knew. Figuring it would be best just to be blunt and truthful – because, she assumed, the dead girl would know if she was lying – she said, "Well, you know how you said that you can see and hear stuff that I can't? Can you… do you know the other stuff, too?"

"For the most part, Diana, I do. I'm not really you so I don't have access to your thoughts and memories," she explained, to which Diana let out a relieved sigh – it was nice to hear that she still had _some _privacy, "but there's a lot I know about. It's only things that pertain to the curse, I would say."

"So, let me get this straight… you only have control when it has to do with this whole _thing_, right?" The girl in the mirror nodded. "Okay, then, let me ask you this: I keep getting these weird feelings about Tony Higgins that I can't explain. Bad feelings. So what I was wondering is… is he part of the curse?" Jack had not given her a straight answer – mainly because he could not answer the question; she only hoped that Stress knew more about it than Jack did.

She was silent. So silent that Diana was almost positive that the dead girl was beginning to fade and would disappear into the recess of her soul, leaving the question unanswered until they met again. She knew that she was pushing Stress; at first, Stress had said that her energy was quickly depleted but she had been able to contact her through the bathroom mirror that morning. It had only been about six hours since then and the pair was talking again. That could not be good for the spirit.

But then Stress sighed and Diana, by holding the compact at a different angle, could see that she had not faded just yet. Her face had lost all humor, her eyes looked sad and her head drooped… but she was still there.

"Stress?"

When she spoke, she sounded as if she really had been around for one hundred years. Her voice was heavy and laden with decision. "I told you he was. And I told you that I couldn't tell you anymore about him. You have to figure it out on your own."

That was not what Diana had been expecting. She thought that the girl would help her out or give her advice – anything. That Stress would refuse had not even crossed her mind. "But, I don't get it. I know that there's something weird about him but I can't place my finger on it. But he's coming here tomorrow and—"

Stress's head lifted urgently. Again, it appeared as if her image was fading and, when Diana moved her hand to look at the compact's mirror a different way, it only furthered her disappearance However, her voice was still clear – if a bit frantic. "Tony? Here? The building?"

"Yeah. My aunt invited him over for dinner. Do you—I mean, will everything be all right?" Something about the way that Stress had responded to that made the weird feelings returned. All sorts of excuses for Ariadne to cancel this dinner ran through her head – from a simple cold to a contagious case of leprosy – and she tucked them away for future use. She might just need them.

Again, Stress took a few seconds to answer. Then, "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" she said, her voice higher than Diana had ever heard it before. "Listen, I told you not to trust him and I stand by that. But there's nothing you can do if Ria invited him to the building. Just don't… don't mention _any _of this around him and you'll be fine." There was something about the way she said that that told Diana that she did not really believe what she was saying. "Besides, what else can you do? Nothing, that's what. You just have to watch yourself."

"Won't I have you to watch me, too? I know you have been. 'Cause, damn, whatever you did to my head before really hurt."

The smile she had come to recognize as Stress's found its way back to her face with that comment. "A promise is a promise, Diana. You gave your word that you would not tell and I held you to that," she said, looking quite smug, though the expression was hard to tell given that Diana's face was quickly overlaying the dead girl's.

She must have realized that her time for this visit was almost up because she lifted an eyebrow as she said, "I'll do my best to keep an eye out for you but, really, I didn't do too good when it came to watching my own back…"

And, with those less than promising parting words, she was gone. Diana blinked and when she opened her eyes again, it was solely her reflection that she found.

She snapped the compact closed before placing the cool plastic lid against her cheek. She knew that Stress was right – there was really nothing she could do and, as long as she watched herself, everything would be fine. She purposely chose not to dwell on those last words; they would do nothing but reinforce what had happened to the girl one hundred years ago, and what her fate would be should Diana fail in helping Jack uncover the truth.

Nodding to herself, she added the folded mirror to the top of the side table, alongside the rest of her belongings – the 'Fate' box, Bambi, her cell phone and the jewelry box – before rising from the bed and stretching out her arms.

It had been a very long day, even if a good portion of it was spent (technically) asleep on her bed. Her Reese's shirt was still damp, reminding her that she had wanted to change out of it. She bent down to stretch her back next and, when she was hanging with her head down, she pulled the shirt off, dropping it onto the floor.

Crossing the room, covering herself by folding her arms over her bra – just in case – Diana went over to the dresser and opened the drawer that held all of the shirts she had brought with her for her vacation. Since she did not plan on going out that night, she grabbed a plain white tee and shimmied it on. She left her jeans on, though; she could change into her pajamas later.

Pulling her hair out from under the tee-shirt, Diana paused and rubbed her neck. The muscles were tense and the skin was still clammy but the touch felt good regardless. She focused on the caress, trying to get her mind off of the mystery for the evening; she did not want to burden Ariadne with everything – especially not on their ladies' night.

_Five days_, she thought to herself, despite her better intentions, _it's only been five days but it feels like fifty… I swear, when all this is said and done, I'm going to need a vacation from my summer vacation… _

--

Diana was fixing her hair, pulling it up into a tight bun, as she walked into the den. The first thing she noticed was that the pizza must have already arrived – there were two plain pies, the pizza boxes propped open, sitting on top of the coffee table. The warm, cheesy aroma greeted her as she entered and she paused, breathing it in deeply. "Mmm," she murmured, only realizingjust how hungry she really was, "that smells _good_."

Ariadne, who had already traded her work clothes for a silken, monogrammed pajama set, was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked under her, as she nursed a glass of Diet Coke. "It just arrived, dear," she greeted her, grinning contently, "so help yourself."

"Don't mind if I do." She grabbed one of the two ceramic plates that were sitting – along with napkins, a bottle of soda, a spare glass, and a can of Kraft parmesan cheese – on the table. The slices were large and the cheese was gooey, just the way Diana liked it. She chose the largest of the pieces, one with a large air bubble on the crust, and set it on her plate. "Yummy."

"Enjoy it. Sal's has the best pizza around." Using a napkin as a coaster, Ariadne placed her glass down and rose from the couch. She walked over to the entertainment center on the opposite side of the room and lifted up three VHS boxes that were sitting on top of the shelf. "I stopped at the video store on my way home from work and looked around. I found a couple of movies that I thought you would like to watch tonight. Which of these would you like to watch first, Diana?"

She finished chewing her mouthful of pizza and swallowed. "What did you get?"

"Let's see… there's this one from 1990 with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze. 'Ghost'—"

"What's the next one?" Diana said, cutting her off. She had heard of the movie but had never watched it before; her mother had forbidden her from seeing it at the time and now, nine years later, she wondered if a subconscious memory of Jack had anything to do with her reasons.

Ariadne looked surprised that Diana had interrupted her but she said nothing about it. Instead, she placed that box down on the top shelf. "Okay, here's another one. It's a Disney film based on a true story. The summary says: 'July 1899. When Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst raise the distribution price one-tenth of a cent per paper, ten cents per hundred, the newsboys, poor enough already, are outraged. Inspired by the strike put on by the trolley wor—'"

Diana winced. If she did not know any better, what with the time period and the newsboy strike, it sounded as if it was chronicling an event in Jack Kelly's life. She definitely did not want to watch anything like that. "And the last one?" she asked, cutting in again.

She crossed her fingers – of the two movies that her aunt had told her about so far, they were eerily similar (or reminiscent) of the curse that she was currently dealing with. _Is Aunt Ria trying to tell me something? I don't get it. She seemed so set against me dealing with Jack and now she's bringing me movies about ghosts and newsboys from 1899. Weird. _

Ariadne set the second VHS box on top of the first before holding up the last movie. "This one looked interesting. 'Clue', based on the board game. What do you think?"

_Why am I not surprised? Great. A movie based on somebody being killed and it being a game to figure out who the murderer is. _She faked an excited grin as she reached over and busied herself with pouring a glass of Diet Coke for herself. "Yeah. Let's go with that one, Aunt Ria."

"Great." She removed the video tape from the rental box and placed it into the VCR before picking up a remote that was sitting alongside the player. Ariadne brought it over with her as she sat took up her place again on the couch, pressing the play button once she was comfortable again.

As soon as the previews and FBI warnings began, she lifted her glass of soda again and turned to look at Diana. "So," she began, attempting to begin a friendly conversation with her niece, "how was your day? Did you do anything interesting?"

Diana paused, her second slice of pizza only inches from her mouth. "Huh?" All at once, her mind clicked into overdrive. She just realized that she had not come up with a plausible story for how she spent her day. Her mouth floundered, opening and dropping, making her look like a fish out of water.

Ariadne tilted her glass back, taking a sip of her soda. She did not seem to understand Diana's hesitance to answer; she just assumed that the girl had not heard the question. "Today, Diana. How did you occupy yourself this afternoon?"

"I… um… I just hung around the apartment, that's all. I had a headache," she admitted, thinking that it would be easier to tell a partial truth rather than an out-and-out lie, "and Mr. Kloppman gave me a couple of aspirins. I pretty much rested until it went away."

Concerned, Ariadne reached for Diana's left hand with her right. Diana could not help but noticed how warm her aunt's hand was. "How do you feel now? Do you need a doctor?"

_A doctor? For a headache? _She shook her head, amused. "I'm alright, Aunt Ria. Really. I think I just needed to eat," she told her, nodding at the pizza that she was still holding in her right hand. To prove her point, she took a large bite of the slice and chewed heartily. "See."

"Good," the woman said, relief spread out on her face, as she removed her hand and let it settle in her lap. "For a second, I was afraid that you were still dealing with that mischievous boy and that's why you were in pain. But, of course, you wouldn't do that, Diana. Not after the talk we had the other day, right?"

Diana, who was in the process of chewing and swallowing another bit of pizza, heard the earnest way her aunt spoke and choked. She coughed, trying to get the food down, tears welling up in her eyes.

Ariadne hurriedly leaned forward and patted her niece on the back. "Diana? Diana! Are you okay?"

As soon as she was able to breathe again – though her back was twinging, due to the force of her aunt's well-intentioned pats – Diana reached for her glass and drank half of it in gulp. She shook her head and, using the back of her hand, wiped at the tears. "Well, now. That wasn't too good," the girl said, chuckling weakly.

The older woman just sighed. If that wasn't evidence enough that Diana had done exactly what she had warned her not to do, she did not know what was.


	48. XLVIII

Author's Note: _I did it. I finally, after spending eleven months being an Unemployed Lump, got a job. It's a full-time job, forty hours a week, but as it is a slow place, with not many customers, I should be able to handwrite my stories while I'm there. As long as I do that, I should be able to keep up with my 1kaday – who knows, maybe I'll even get more writing done than normal? Anywho, I just wanted to let you guys know that and, in celebration of my first day at work (my feet are killing me, heh), I spent the last three hours finishing up the rest of this chapter. I hope you like it :) (and, yes, this is, by far, the longest chapter to date. Woot!)_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

March 26, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY EIGHT

--

"Diana…"

Weighing her options, Diana wondered how possible it would be to convince Ariadne that whatever she was thinking – and she was sure that her aunt suspected that she had spent the afternoon with the ghost boy, which, while it was true, was not something she wanted to admit to – was false. She chanced a glance over at the woman; Ariadne's lips were drawn in a thin line and her dark green eyes were narrowed. There was no way out of this one. "Yes?" _Sounding innocent is always a good thing… _

"_Were_ you with that boy today?"

She was going to lie, she really was – she could even sense Stress urging her just to shake her head in denial – but, when she opened her mouth, the truth tumbled out, "Yes, Aunt Ria. Jack stopped over by the apartment this afternoon and he was here until about six o'clock." _Why, thank you, conscience. Just in case I forgot you existed, you chose such a _perfect _time to pipe up,_ she thought, quite sarcastically. But what was done was done and she could not take it back. Feeling like a little girl, awaiting punishment for some wrongdoing, she waited to hear how Ariadne would answer her admission.

It seemed as if Diana was not the only one who expected her to lie; Ariadne's eyes widened and she, very calmly, set her glass back down on the napkin. She lifted up the remote and purposely paused the film, freezing the screen on the opening credits, before placing the control on the coffee table. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm," Ariadne said, leisurely bringing her now-free hand to her forehead. She let her fingers run idly across her skin before nodding. "Oh."

Not having much experience in seeing her aunt get angry, Diana was at a loss for what to do – or say. Like a parrot, she just repeated the one syllable. "Oh." Following Ariadne's example, she set her plate down on the coffee table. Just then, her stomach was doing flip-flips; the pizza suddenly seemed a lot less appetizing. She waited a second before blurting out what exactly was on her mind: "Am I in trouble?"

Her aunt dropped her hand as she shook her head. "You're not in trouble, dear. I'm just… disappointed."

_Sometimes having someone you respect being disappointed in your actions_, Diana thought to herself, guiltily, _is ten times worse than having them be angry at you._ "I'm sorry. He just kinda popped in. I—"

"Yes. He does have a habit of doing that," Ariadne agreed turning away from her niece as she interrupted the girl's half-hearted apology. "And you don't have to explain. I had thought that my warning would have sufficed but he can be… persuasive. My only regret is that I was not here to make sure that he didn't bother you."

With that one wistful statement, the guilt that Diana was feeling intensified. She covered her mouth with her hand before shaking her head urgently. "No, Aunt Ria, it's not like that. Jack… he just—I felt bad. He seems to be telling the truth," she added lamely, speaking through her fingers. She knew that no amount of wishy-washy praise would sway her aunt's opinion of the ghost boy; she also knew that there was no possible way that she could tell her aunt that the reason she trusted Jack was because she was in communication with his dead girlfriend.

Slowly, Ariadne turned back to look at Diana. There was a sad smile on her face and, unless Diana was imagining it, her aunt's eyes were clouded over and focusing on something over Diana's shoulder, rather than on her. "I imagine that he'd make you feel that way. I can not say that I'm surprised…" Then, as if the past few minutes of conversation had never occurred, she shook her head and laughed. It was a tinny sound, most likely forced. "Well, that's that," she said, before nodding towards Diana's half-eaten slice of pizza. "Your dinner is getting cold, dear. And it's time to start the movie, don't you think?"

"Um—yeah?" Perplexed at her aunt's sudden mood swing, and still feeling guilty, Diana bobbed her head uncertainly. "I mean… yeah, that sounds great."

She felt as if there was a heavy cloud settling over the two of them – a mixture of mistrust and regret – and it was unnerving; it was similar to the feelings she experienced after a particularly vexing vision. The fact that the atmosphere in her aunt's apartment reminded her of the past confounded her while, at the same time, it enticed her to be silent. There was a lot more going on here – a lot more that her aunt knew but was unwilling to share – than she was aware of.

But, as Ariadne picked up the remote a second time and pressed the play button, Diana was not sure what she could do about that. _I'm just gonna have to deal with it, I guess. I'll help Jack. I'll help Stress. I will figure out what happened. Hell, I'll even be nice when Aunt Ria has Tony come over tomorrow. Maybe then she won't act so… _strange. _Maybe then things will just get back to normal_, she thought, mildly amused that, given all she had seen these past few days, she was beginning to wonder just exactly what the definition of 'normal' was.

--

Faking a yawn, just in case her aunt's eyes followed her down the hallway that led to her borrowed bedroom, Diana turned the doorknob and quickly retreated into the sanctity of the room. Closing the door behind her, she paused only to flick the light switch on before jumping onto her bed. Despite what she told her aunt after Clue had ended – and she totally guessed the ending; like she thought about Mr. Kloppman, the butler _always _does it – she was not tired, nor did she intend on going to bed at ten o'clock.

That did not mean, however, that she wanted to sit in the den, watching either of the two other movies that the woman had rented. The air had only gotten tenser as they watched the movie in silence. Even the elderly butler noticed the awkwardness between the two women; he attempted to strike up a conversation when he snuck in to clear the plates but Ariadne did not say a word – not even to tell him to leave the dishes be. He just chuckled weakly before excusing himself.

Diana was glad when the movie _finally_ ended – _seriously, three endings for one movie? – _and quickly made her own excuses. Ariadne, whether she bought her niece's story or not, just wished her a good night's sleep. Diana thanked her for the dinner and the movie before shuffling off to bed.

Trying to make some sense of what all that meant, Diana sprawled out on her bed, flat on her stomach, head snuggling into the pile of pillows. It was as if, at the mention of Jack, her aunt went entirely against her normal nature. First, on Friday, when she gave Diana the 'Fate' box, she had been angry over Jack; now, she was acting vacant with a touch of depression mixed in. _I don't get it. Aunt Ria was acting all weird. I thought she was going to blow up at me but she didn't… she just seemed sad, instead. And then she didn't say anything to me after that, really. She didn't even eat her own dinner. _

Groaning into the pillows, Diana added her aunt's shift in personality to her ever-growing list of things that she had to worry about. In a very morbid way – which was appropriate since much of what she was dwelling on involved ghosts as well as long-dead persons – it amused her that Jack's Devil's curse was quickly overtaking her life. She was one hundred percent positive that Ariadne's attitude was a result of Diana's involvement in the curse; she just did not know how she was supposed to keep both Ariadne and Jack happy.

"Whatever happened to making sure that _I _was happy?" she asked herself under her breath, turning so that she was lying on her right side. In an attempt to relax, she slid her arm under one of the bottommost pillows, nuzzling against the silky fabric of the pillowcase. "I mean, I _am _the one on summer vacation, he—wait a second… what's this?"

She sat upright; her right hand was fumbling to draw whatever it was that was hidden under her pillow out so that she could see it. When the underside of her hand bumped up against the stack, it seemed much larger than it was. Her imagination began to whirr, coming up with all sorts of explanations for some hidden item under her pillow – perhaps it was like the old necklace she found in the side table's drawer?

But, when she finally drew it out and could see what it was, she was let down to see that it was nothing more than the packet of photographs that Jack had left behind for her. She made sure that the pile was face-down on the comforter – just in case – as she remembered how, in her haste at hearing her Ariadne's voice earlier that evening, she had shoved the pictures under her pillows.

Now, though, once the mild disappointment that her discovery was not another piece of jewelry or something more exciting than Jack's old photos, her curiosity began to nibble at the back of her mind. It was still early, after all, and she had nothing better to do just then. How bad would it be, really, to just take a _peek_ at one of the pictures? _Who knows? Maybe there'll be some answers in here_, she mused, an interested smirk coming to her face.

Once again, Diana had succeeded in talking herself into doing something that, if she was thinking clearly, she would not normally have done; while staring at pictures and jumping into visions were definitely some of her least favorite things to do, it would be far better to do that and, hopefully, get some more information, over moping about how little she really knew at that point.

She flipped the packet over, taking great care not to focus on the top photograph until she knew what exactly she wanted to see. The knot in the twine that kept the package assembled was sloppily tied, falling apart with one quick pull on the ends of the frayed string. Diana balled up the twine in her hand before depositing it, alongside her other belongings, on the side table.

Her mind clear, she lifted up the first picture from the stack of photographs and glanced at the image. It was not as old as some of the others she had seen – for one thing, there was a car in the background, and a more recent model than the ones in all the old '30's crime movies her dad liked to watch – and it featured a tall, fair-haired man, wearing a US Army uniform, and a young woman with short, curly hair. Their hands were intertwined and they both wore ecstatic smiles on their faces, as if the two of them were only ones who mattered in the world.

Squinting, Diana stared at the faces, trying to figure out where she had seen them before. More than anything, the woman looked like someone she knew; the man, while handsome, was unknown to her. And that's when it dawned on her: this woman was a teenaged version of her grandmother, Étaín… but the man standing hand in hand with her was not her husband. She had seen pictures of her grandfather, Denis Cearr, when he was younger; he was a dark-haired man and stout with only a few inches on his petite wife – he was physically the opposite of the man in this picture.

Diana was curious just then. Even after learning that her great-grandmother had been married to another man before Les Jacobs, she had not even given a thought to her grandmother's early life; she had taken it for granted that she had always been with her grandfather, Pop-pop. But, with this picture in hand, courtesy of one, Jack Kelly, perhaps she could find out the truth. That's exactly what she proceeded to try to do.

"I want to know who this dude is," she said out loud, focusing on the same request as she stared at the image.

She waited a minute. Nothing happened. She waited another minute. Still, nothing happened.

Confused, she shook the picture a few times before setting it before her eyes. "I want to know who this dude is, _please_," she added, in case being polite had any effect on the magic. It did not. Regardless of how she worded the plea, or how she thought about it, or even how hard she stared at the smiling couple, she just did not fall into the past.

_Is it broken_, she wondered, _or am I doing something wrong? _She had not had any trouble before – except for being sucked into a vision that she was unprepared for – and it was mildly frustrating.

Diana placed the picture on the bed beside her, taking great care to keep it separate from the rest of the stack. Since she was unable to see what exactly she wanted to in that photograph, she was going to have to ask someone about it, just to satisfy her own curiosity. Until then, though, she had nothing to do except for look at some more of Jack's pictures. If she was lucky (or unlucky – she was not sure how to gage the situation yet), the one of Étaín was the only one that would not work; she could use the other photographs that Jack left behind with her to learn more about his curse. Or, at the very least, she could entertain herself until she was sleepy enough to go to bed.

The next picture she looked at was even more of a mystery to Diana; of the six people – three men, one woman and two children – she recognized two: David and Les Jacobs. The woman, with dark eyes and dark hair, shared similar facial structure with the brothers and she could only assume that she was their sister, Sarah. Sarah was leaning against a man that was roughly her height, and wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers hat; Diana mentally decided that he was the infamous Spot Conlon she had heard so much about.

While the picture was interesting – she was enjoying seeing the people she was coming to know as her long-dead family in various stages of their lives – there was nothing that really captured her attention. Shrugging, she set that photograph down next to the first one before turning back to look at the next image in the pile.

The third photograph was probably the oldest, and least cared for, one in the packet. It was yellow with age, its corners were torn and there was a hole in the center. However, that did not make the face any less distinguishable. There, smiling cockily in the middle of the picture, was a younger – perhaps thirteen or so – Jack Kelly.

She laughed at this one. Somehow she doubted that Jack had purposely added this one to show her. It was quite obviously a shot taken long before the curse had been bestowed and, therefore, really had no reason to be included with the others. Then again, knowing Jack and his ego, he probably wanted her to coo over how cute he was when he was younger.

_Well_, she thought to herself as she placed that picture, delicately, on top of the portrait of the Jacobs's, _I don't think I'll give him the satisfaction of doing that. I'll just pretend like I didn't see this one. _

That was actually easier than she thought for, when she turned to look at the fourth picture, the image that she found was enough to knock mostly everything out of her mind, she was that stunned. It served as a great contrast with the picture that had been before it; whereas that one was incredibly old, this one was more recent. At the very least, it was in color.

Diana did not even need to take a second look at this picture to recognize the two identical girls: Ariadne and Arianrhod Cearr. They were, most likely, older than the last time that she saw them – though that had been in a dream and Diana was not sure if that really counted – but definitely not any older than twenty.

It was actually a good thing that she did not need any longer than a second to grasp the identity of subjects in the photograph. As soon as her very consciousness affirmed that it was her mother and her aunt, she was gone. Her body stiffened as it fell, her eyes wide as the vision overtook her. But, if she had not been alone, and someone could have seen her fall under the picture's spell, they would have seen the vaguely triumphant smile that flickered for just a second.

_I guess it's not broken, after all… _

--

_Just like the dream she had had the second night in her adopted bedroom, Diana found herself in the stairwell that led up to her aunt's penthouse apartment. She did not spend long dwelling on the brown stairs or the narrow room; as soon as she realized where she was, she promptly began to climb. There was no time to waste when she knew her way. _

_She ran up the stairs, the sound of her bare feet plodding against the hard steps echoing around her. Since it was a vision, rather than an eerie dream, she still retained her wits; rather than linger in the stairwell alone, she hurried upward in order to reach the apartment's door. If her mother and her aunt were around – and she assumed they were, considering the fact that the image that inspired this vision was one of the twins – they would surely be inside the apartment. _

_This time, Diana did not even flinch when she found herself facing the yellow door. With the clarity that her consciousness provided her, she understood that she was not in the present – and, as such, it made sense that the door was yellow instead of white; at some point, the door had been painted over. She chided herself silently, shaking her head as she opened the door and entered the apartment. In the dream, when she saw that door was not the color she remembered, she had been afraid. Now she just felt silly. _

_Closing the door behind her, Diana wondered where she should go. She snapped her fingers. The last time she had seen her mother and her aunt in the past, the teenaged versions of the Cearr twins had been arguing with each other in the den. Maybe it was possible that that would be where she would find them now. _

_She traveled down the hallway, keeping an ear out in case she heard either of the women speak up, as she approached the den. She did not hear anything and was confused. _Maybe there's no one here… or maybe there _is _something wrong with these pictures, _she considered, feeling a bit nervous at that thought. _I wouldn't put it past Jack. It'd be just like him, give me a whole bunch of dud pictures just to screw with me when he wasn't around…

_Just about convinced that she was not going to see anything in this vision, she slowed her harried pace. She arrived outside of the den and, not hoping for much, poked her head in before drawing it back. Leaning in through the open door, she did a double take. There, sitting on a floral print – _and very tacky, _Diana noticed – couch, were the twin sisters. _

_They looked very similar to the twins that Diana had seen in her dream, except that both of them were dressed in clothes, rather than Ariadne wearing a nightgown. That same ugly brown and yellow checked lamp was on, illuminating the room, as the sisters sat and read together: Ariadne, _The Collected Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe_; Arianrhod, _Vogue

_All of a sudden, Ariadne shut her book and set it on her lap. "Roddy?" _

_"Mm-hmm?" Arianrhod did not remove her green eyes from the article she was reading, choosing to answer her sister with a noncommittal noise. _

_That was not good enough for Ariadne, though. She leaned over and, pointer finger extended, poked her sister in the arm. "Roddy?" _

_Sighing, the older twin lowered her magazine. "What is it, Ria?" _

_Ariadne, though the nervousness on her face was evident, glowered at her sister's tone. "I want you tell me about the weirdo again. Are you sure he didn't say why he was talking to you?" _

_"Ria, Ria, Ria," she said in a direct parody of the "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia" scene from "The Brady Bunch", "it was just some older man who told me I looked like an old friend of his. Said her name was Rhian. I told him that I never heard of her. He backed off and I ran inside the building. No harm done. Why are you worrying over it?" _

Older man? Huh? Asking about a girl with Stress's last name? _Diana drew in closer to the room, interested in the conversation. She knew now why this picture had captured her senses – this definitely had something to do with Jack's Devil's curse. _

_"You were alone, Rod. You don't know what some guy like that wanted. Remember how I told you that some short man with dark hair was sitting in that old car in front of the building? He was a real freak. I don't need another one bothering us, you know?" _

_Arianrhod looked like she was debating whether or not to say something; she closed her magazine entirely before tapping her fingers against its glossy cover. Then she sighed. "You're right. It's bad enough that we got your imaginary friend hanging around." _

_Diana shook her head. _Oh, Mom, that was a cheap shot, _she thought as she watched Ariadne stiffen. However, before she even heard her aunt's response – and from the expression on her face, Diana was sure it would be heated – she felt a tug. The tug became a pull. The pull became a force that she could not ignore and, before she knew it, she was no longer standing in the den with her teenaged relations. _

_She was just alone… _

--

It was hard to tell when the vision ended. Unlike every other time that she returned to the present, there was no awakening, no understanding that her consciousness was back where it belonged. She must have been much more tired than she thought because, when the vision faded away, it just segued into sleep. Her body relaxed, her eyelids slowly lowered. Unconsciously, she rolled her body into the folds of her large pink, comforter.

Warm and content, Diana Mason allowed herself to rest. After all, she would definitely need it.

--

_The rest was not as, well, restful as Diana would have liked. To her overtired mind, the girl did not even know that she had forsaken the vision of her aunt and her mother for a dream sequence. For her, it seemed as if she went from one strange circumstance to the next. And this one, where she found herself now, was definitely strange. _

_It was dark – so dark that she could not see anything. Not her surroundings, not any one that may be in the vicinity… she could not even say her hands before her. _

_It was quiet, too. At that moment, the only thing she could hear was the beating of her heart and the sound of her feverish breath. She was standing on a hard ground but the overwhelming darkness made her feel as if she had been placed inside of a box; her mild case of claustrophobia – intensified due to the dream-like state she was in – was starting and her breathing became a little louder. _

_"Where am I?" she asked out loud, in part to break up the eerie quiet, in part to see if there was anyone around that could answer her – and, hopefully, tell her what was going on. _

_To her surprise, there was an answer. However, it was definitely not one that she ever would have expected. _

_She heard a quiet, yet entirely noticeable, meowing sound. _

Meow? _Diana shut her eyes, inhaling deeply out of nerves. Just then, _any _noise would have been welcomed – but a cat's meow? It reminded her way too much of Jack and his cat friends. _What is going on _now_?

_Strangely, though, she did not feel afraid… just nervous, really. She let out the breath that she had been holding and lifted her eyes. It was a pointless action, since it was still as dark out as when she arrived in this place – or, at least, she thought it was pointless; when Diana opened her eyes, she was able to make out something in the darkness:_

_Eyes. _

_Four distinct pairs –well, not four, really, but three – of eyes. _

_There were a set of bright blue eyes and a set of blue-green eyes, then a single mischievous blue eye staring at her and – if there was any way for her to deny exactly what (or who) these eyes belonged to, this last pair shot that plan to hell – a set of eyes where one was purple and one blue. _

_As much as she did not _want _to recognize two of those four pairs of eyes, there was no denying it. "Honor? Fae?" she asked, her voice barely higher than a whisper. She was getting used to all of this ghost business, that was true, but this was getting to be a bit much – even for her. _

_"Yesss," hissed a voice that, if Diana had to guess, came from the blue-green pair of eyes – Honor Williams. But, from her memory of the vision she had where she actually spoke to the waitress, she knew that that was not exactly Honor's voice; the Honor she had met did not have such a hissing quality to her voice. "But, given the sssituation, I prefer that you call me Four…" _

Well that explains it—wait a second… no it doesn't. _"Four?" _

_"Yesss. I thought you would have underssstood it all by now, girlie. Or did you just pretend not to notice what I tried to tell you?" _

_"Wha—? I mean… weren't you just cats? I thought… yeah, I thought… but how?" Diana shook her head, aware that her words were coming out in a jumbled rush of utter nonsense. She could not help it, though. It was one thing to entertain the idea that all of Jack's four pets had once been living, breathing people; it was another entirely to be face to face with these cat-human hybrid spirits and not have anyway to deny their (unexplained) existence. _

_There was coy laughter – the owner's of all four pair of eyes were laughing at her. But only one – Four – spoke. "Sssilly, child. We are not here to explain. We are here to give you sssome help. I tried but the Massster isss unable to underssstand." _

_"Master?" Diana repeated, turning her body so that she was facing the blue-green eyes, the one's she associated with Four. She tried not to notice the force with which the other three sets were watching her – there was an air of amusement, coupled with the seriousness of their mission, surrounding Four's companions – and addressed her questions to the assumed leader. "Do you mean Jack?" _

_"Massster. We were reborn to ssserve him in his quessst but he doesss not underssstand. You underssstand, girlie. And you will sssolve the myssstery," Four said, hissing and spitting the words out. Her voice was lazy and her cat-like eyes were narrowed into slits. She was enjoying this. _

I don't blame her, _Diana thought to herself, quite proud at how she was handling this new, strange turn of events. _How much fun must it be to be put into the body of a cat in order to help a boy who can't even help himself? _"Okay, Four. You're telling me that I'm going to solve this thing… how?" _

_The laughter started up again but Four did not find it appropriate. She let out a yowl and the other three took heed and fell silent. When she spoke again, the teasing quality was back in her voice, with no sign that she had just turned on the others. "The anssswersss are in place, I did ssso myssself. The truth isss not asss hidden asss you would think. Asssk the Massster. He ssshould know." _

Somehow, I don't believe that one. Jack doesn't even know that something is up with his cats. How would he be able to figure out any clues that Four – or any of the others, for that matter – was setting up? _She shook her head. _

_"Asssk the Massster. The cluesss are there if you are willing to sssee them," Four repeated, "and, if you do, you will sssucceed. Then we will all be free…" _

_And, with that, they were gone, all four of them. Diana was left alone in the dark – and in more ways than one. The sound of the ominous cats' hisses ringing in her ear, she was far more confused now than she had been before. _


	49. XLIX

Author's Note: _Where do I start… First off – I want to wish Diabo a happy anniversary! The one year anniversary of this beast was last Monday but, due to a cold/flu type thing that I battled all last week, I was unable to update. I actually did not think that I was going to update this weekend, too, but that was for another reason entirely. My mom has been hospitalized for a combination of pneumonia and 4 various infections (mouth, ear, lung and urinary tract) – she went in yesterday and we only got confirmation as to what _precisely _was wrong an hour ago. I don't know how long it will last but… yeah. It's rough. I'm thankful that I had this more than half-way done – due to mixed emotions, I poured my frustration into this chapter. It would have been a tough one to do regardless (you'll see why) but I'm sure I'll look back later and see my own confusion and hurt in it. I hope it makes for good reading. If not, you can lie to me. Really._

_Other than that, I did want to just point ot that there is a second companion piece to Diabo: _Double or Nothing. _It focuses on Race's involvement in the whole story and I wrote that last week. Just in case you didn't know. It will play a part in the eventual finale, though ;) And, of course, Happy Easter to those who celebrate it!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

April 8, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FORTY NINE

--

Her eyes sprung open urgently. For a moment that seemed to last, Diana did not know where she was or, precisely, how she had gotten there. It was a strange sensation, one that frightened her as her eyes darted to and fro. The sterile white walls of the room were comforting, as was the pink comforter that was twisted around her body. With a sigh, she realized where she was: in the bedroom of her aunt's penthouse. _It had all been a dream… _

She shook her head gently as she began to disentangle her limbs from the mess of blanket. Though the last thing she remembered from her dream – _it was a dream… right? – _was the sound of hissing amidst those eerie cat-like eyes, it must have been enough to cause her to toss and turn in her sleep. The comforter was wrapped tightly around her, as if she had wriggled and writhed in her sleep in an attempt to hide from her subconscious. But she could not hide… not yet, at least. She still had seven weeks left to help Jack.

Yawning, though she was definitely more alert than tired – waking up so abruptly had a tendency of doing that to the girl – Diana finally fought her way out of the cocoon that the covers had become. Her mind was strangely clear but, if she tried hard enough, she could make out the eerie, glowing cat's eyes that she had (or what it seemed like) just viewed; not wanting to deal with that, or what it might mean, she did not try very hard at all.

Instead, she glanced down at the watch she wore on her wrist. Unless it was her imagination, the slim silver wristwatch seemed larger than it had only a week ago. Shrugging – she had other things to worry about – she slid the watch up and moved it so that she could see the oval-shaped face.

As far as she could tell, considering she only just woke up, neither Ariadne or Kloppman had successfully roused her – and, from what she could see, Jack was not haunting her bedroom, waiting to hoist another packet of pictures on her. She figured it still had to be pretty early; surely her aunt had not allowed the girl to sleep in again. But, even if it was early, it still had to be after sunrise. The liberal amounts of sunlight streaming into her window told her that much.

One look at the position of the tiny hands confirmed one assumption while disproving another –it was quite a few hours past sunrise but, at half past nine, it was already too late to see Ariadne off to work. _Wow_, she thought, letting go of the watch and feeling it slip back down to rest against the widest part of her wrist, _I guess Aunt Ria _was_ a bit miffed at me. Either that or she was trying to make up for that weird night last night by leaving me alone… _

She shook her head. Whatever the reason, she knew she would have to sit down with her aunt at some point and work things out; as much as she wanted to help Jack and Stress out, she was not going to do that at the expense of alienating her family. Diana only hoped that Ariadne felt the same way. At the very least, she would find out how exactly her aunt felt later that night: in eight hours or so, Tony Higgins would be there, having dinner with the two of them.

Sighing, Diana pushed herself off of the bed. Vaguely, it registered that she had fallen asleep lying across the bed, rather than her head positioned near the headboard. It was not that surprising of a revelation; she figured that the trance she had been in had led straight to sleep. Really, she was more surprised that she had been allowed to sleep as late as she had without anyone (or anything) waking her up.

Without questioning herself – most unlike her, Diana was not game for any questions at that moment – she decided to take advantage of her good fortune and shower early. If she was lucky, she could get washed up, dressed and even eat some breakfast before Jack appeared.

_Might as well give myself a bit of time to relax, _she thought as she shuffled over to the dresser to pick out her clothes, _because I can already guess that today's going to be… interesting… _

--

The shower had felt good. The warm water streaming down her back had occupied her; she only imagined that the ghost boy might be lurking just beyond the shower curtain twice this time. And she had run across Mr. Kloppman in the hallway, on her way to the shower. The butler had offered to have a nice meal waiting for her when she got dressed. That alone put a smile on her face, one that remained as she toweled off and started to put her clothes on.

It was strange, though. As she pulled on her denim shorts, buttoned up her over-sized white shirt and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows, she could not help but keep her head down. The mirror had fogged up due to the steam the shower produced but, as the reflective glass slowly cleared, she refused to meet it. Diana would never admit it – especially after all she had seen and experienced these last few days – but she was afraid to look. She did not know what she wanted to see.

She did not linger in the bathroom. Her hair wrapped up in a towel, she exited the room as soon as she was fully clothed. Her brush, she knew, was still in her bedroom, and she did not need a mirror to throw her hair up into a messy bun.

Kloppman was not in view as she left the bathroom; she could hear running water and the clanking of pots coming from the kitchen and figured that he was still working on her breakfast. Her stomach was growling but a quick pat against her front quieted the grumbles.

Slipping into the bedroom, the girl closed the door behind her. She glanced around quickly, making sure that she was still alone, and, once she had confirmed that, she let her head drop forward. The towel fell to the floor, freeing her water-dark curls. Diana shook her head wildly, loosening the strands, before jerking her head back and letting her hair settle on her shoulders.

Her brush was sitting on top of her dresser. She crossed the room and grabbed it, pulling it through her hair as she turned back, walking towards the bed. Flopping on top of the bunched comforter, she continued to brush out the knots. It only took a few minutes before the tangles were undone; scooping it up, she twisted the curls into a bun and used a ponytail holder to keep it up. She nodded, satisfied, as she tossed the brush to the side and stood back up.

Just about to leave the room and head towards the kitchen, Diana turned around glanced down at the bed. For a second, she contemplated making the bed – if Jack was going to come back to her room, it might be nice for it to be a bit neater; the last thing she wanted was for him to make another crass comment about the bed being for sleeping – but, before she had even made a move toward straightening out the comforter, she caught sight of one of Jack's photographs. With a jerk, she remembered that she had left the whole packet on the bed when she fell asleep. She just hoped that they were all still there.

Loosely shaking the blanket, so as not to further scatter the pictures, Diana watched as the rest of them – there was about twelve in total – revealed themselves. She bent over and, dropping the edge of the comforter, reached for the photos. It did not take long for her to gather them all back together neatly, especially since she was trying her best not to glimpse down at any of them. Just in case.

_Now where did I put that string last night? _Squinting one of her eyes as she tried to remember, she snapped her fingers when the answer came to her. She had balled up the twine right after untying the packet of pictures and placed it with a quite a few of her other belongings: on the side table, next to the bed.

She swiveled around and, glancing atop the small table, quickly spied the old piece of twine. Reaching for it, she scooped it up but not before running the edge of her hand against the tarnished silver necklace that was sitting beside it. As soon as her skin made contact with the chain, a slight shiver ran up her spine. She paused, mildly interested at what could have caused that sensation, before shrugging and picking up the twine.

Diana made quick work of the twine, tying the packet up. She kept the photograph of her grandmother and that mystery man on top of the pile – she wanted to remind herself to ask Jack about it – and, since that particular image still did not work for her, she did not pay any attention to it as she bundled the stack together a second time, tighter so that the twine held them all in place.

As soon as that was done, she set the packet at the edge of the bed, pleased with her handiwork. Normally, when it came to handling small objects and tying knots, she was all thumbs, but the twine was keeping the pictures together – she had no complaints.

However, once that task had been completed, she turned back around and looked at her growing collection of items on the side table. She glanced temporarily at the cell phone – she had no new calls – and allowed a quick smile in Bambi's direction before eyeing the necklace again. It was weird but, as she spied it, the chain seemed to glint invitingly in the sunlight. Almost on its own accord, her hand reached for it. There was an unexplained feeling of _completion _once it was looped among her fingers. It was fleeting, though, and disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

Turning the chain over in her palm, she squinted as she looked at it. It did not seem nearly so worn and rusted as it had the day before; it had a more weathered charm to it, one that endeared Diana to it. Without even thinking twice about it, she decided that the trinket would be something nice to wear – besides, it was not as if its current owner was desperately missing it. And there was something about it that just seemed _special_ to her…

With one quick motion, she raised it to her neck and looped it around. It took a second for her to work the fastenings – she struggled with it but, unlike the hand mirror she had used to contact Stress, she did not grow frustrated when it did not work. She just diligently continued to hold the clasp open while trying to hook the other end to it before it slipped out of her fingertips.

It took a few tries but, when she finally heard the tiny sound of the clasp closing, she let it settle before giving the front of the chain a gentle tug. When she was sure that it would hold, Diana tucked it underneath her shirt. She still did not know who it belonged to and felt a bit weird wearing it but, the way she figured it, she could use all the luck she could get. What with having to spend the morning and afternoon with Jack, and then the evening with the Higgins man, Diana needed something to get her through it; superstitions aside, she thought it might be a good idea to pretend that this old necklace was lucky – besides, it was not as if she could wear her lucky Reese's shirt again so soon.

With one last comforting pat, Diana tapped her collar before dropping her hands to her side. It was still early – it could not have been more than an hour since she woke up – and she wondered what she should do. She was clean and, fortunately, she had not seen hide or hair of the ghost boy yet.

_Wait. What was that? _

Diana looked over her shoulder, squinting at the doorway. "Jack?" For a second, she could have sworn that she saw a flicker of a shape, hovering a few steps within the room. She opened her eyes wide before squinting them again. "That you?"

With a _pop_ he appeared, a confused look on his face. "How did you know it was me?"

She shrugged her shoulders, quite indifferently. She could not understand why Jack looked so surprised. "I don't know. I just did, I guess." Pausing, she raised her eyebrows questioningly at him. "Why? Is that weird?"

Jack had to think that over for a second before answering the girl. He could tell by her tone of voice that she was not so much curious as she was leery that there was another thing about her that marked her as different. Rubbing the back of his neck in what he hoped was a casual manner, he said, "No. Not really…" If possible, her eyebrows went even higher. Quickly trying to cover himself, Jack added, "What I meant was… you know. I was invisible. I didn't think no one could see me."

"I didn't see you." Slowly turning around so that she was facing him, Diana relaxed, her face more calm than suspicious as she eyed the ghost boy. "But I could tell you were here. Are you okay with that Jack? You're not going to be pissed that you can't spy on me again, are you?"

That cocky, assured grin was back in place, as if it had never left. "Come on, kid. You can't still be sore about that." The pointed look she gave him was all the response he needed. "Alright, you can be. But don't worry. I ain't trying to peek at you. Just back for another day of figurin'."

"Figuring?"

He slid his hands into his pockets before taking a casual step towards her. "Yeah, figurin'. You know. What we've been doing ever since we met?" His voice, while not intentionally patronizing, was partially amused, partially annoyed. And definitely patronizing.

There was also an undeniable sense that there was something being left unsaid but she could not, for the life of her, guess what that was. So she did not comment on it. Instead, she just shook her head. "Whatever."

"Ah, come now, Diana. There ain't no need to be nasty. Didn't we have this talk the other day? About the proper way to greet someone?" He mimicked her gesture, tersely shaking his head a few times. When he stopped, his grin was still in place. Despite his earlier confusion, he was obviously in a good mood, though she could not figure what he had to be happy about – besides teasing her. Whatever it was, it was definitely an improvement over the morning before.

His mood was infectious. Try as she might, Diana could not keep a pout on her face. It cracked, the corner of her mouths betraying her by quirking upwards. In an attempt to hide it, she bowed her head. "Oh, I'm _so _sorry, Jack," she said, copying his tone, "I don't know _what _came over me." She glanced upwards, giving him a view of the smile that took over. "How _are_ you, Jack? So nice to see you again, Jack. Nice weather we're having, Jack."

He lifted his hand and waved it back and forth. She was glad to see that it, as well as its twin, was empty; he had, for once, neglected to bring his photographs with him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. That'll do." His eyes were twinkling with a light that Diana was unfamiliar with. She liked it though that was another thing that she never would admit to. "Playtime's over. Time to get back to work."

Diana rolled her eyes. "Work? If only. People get paid for work. No… this isn't work. This is _destiny,_" she said, her voice rising in a mock-worthy whine, as she waved her hands around.

"Don't think I don't notice that you're trying to change the subject there, kid," Jack retorted, his good mood wavering slightly. He had thought that Diana was used to this by now; after six days, she should have known that he would arrive, ready to discuss the mystery in great detail.

And she was. But, after another night of unanswered questions and strange occurrences, she was attempting to face this new day with sarcasm and indifference. Compassion had not worked, neither had confusion or curiosity. Perhaps a new tactic was in order – at least, that's what she told herself. There had to be some way to go about gathering the information that would defeat Jack's Devil's curse.

Sighing – well, faking a sigh, really – she leaned down and retrieved Jack's pictures. She waved them in her hand. "I take it you want to use these?"

Jack removed his right hand from his trouser pocket and pointed at the stack. "Why not? We only got through a couple of them yesterday. And, the ones you did see, it didn't really tell you too much."

"Yeah. Only one problem, though. They don't work."

"What do you mean 'they don't work'?"

It was hard to contain her smirk. Jack sounded as confused to hear that the pictures were not pulling her into the past as she was. "It's simple, Jack. I looked down at a few of them but, no matter what I tried, I didn't see anything. Well, except for the picture itself. But that was it." She could tell by his eyes that he doubted her. And that bothered her. "Here," she added, as she began to undo the knot she had just tied, "I'll prove it."

She did not completely remove the twine but loosened it enough to take the top picture off of the pile. As soon as that was in her hand, she tossed the rest of the photographs onto the bed. Then, gripping the image of her grandmother as a teenager tightly in both of her hands, she nodded once, self-assured, at the ghost boy before turning her attention on the photo. She stared at it pointedly, willing for it to work. It did not.

"There. Nothing happened," she told him, just a little bit proud at showing him up. Flipping the picture around so that Jack could see which one she was using, she said, "See. I stared at it for a good while and saw nothing. They just don't work the way they did before."

He glanced at the image before crossing his arms over his chest. "I could have told you that. That one ain't gonna work."

_What? Is he really trying to play this off by saying he _knew _that the pictures are broken? _Diana was not surprised. Jack was not the type of person – _ghost _– who could ever admit when he was wrong. "All right, Jack. Why don't you tell me _how _you know it wasn't going to work?" _Come on, Mr. Smarty Pants. I'd love to hear your excuse for this one. _

Pointing at the picture, his lips curving in such a way that Diana had the sudden desire to give him a shove, Jack rose to her bait, "Simple, kid. You may not have noticed it before… got spoiled, I guess… but the pictures only work when they got something to do with the curse. That one, with Étaín and her old beau, it didn't help you with learning about the mystery. So nothing happened."

"Oh." It made sense. So much sense, in fact, that Diana felt a bit stupid that she had not thought of that before. However, that was something else that she would never admit to Jack so, as quickly as she could, she attempted to cover her blunder. "It's not like I really thought that this picture did something significant. I just wanted to know who that dude was. I don't think it's Pop-Pop."

"It's not. Étaín didn't meet that Cearr kid until years later. This is Jeffy Brooks. Her high school sweetheart, if I remember right. See the uniform?" Diana nodded. It was quite obvious that the young man was wearing some sort of military uniform. "He went off to fight in the Second Great War. Didn't come back." Jack shook his head. "When I met up with her for the first time, it was right after he left. It took her months to get over him leaving and then, when he died… well, it's really no wonder why the 1940's really didn't help me learn too much." He finished his statement with a shrug. "What? Never asked your grandmother about her life?"

Again, Diana found herself needing a quick change of subject. She could not believe that Jack – _Jack!_ – was right. Despite dealing with her family's… legacy for the past week, and seeing various generations of said family, it only just dawned on her how little she knew. She never knew that her great-grandmother had been married twice, or that her grandmother lost a love fighting in World War II. And what she did not know about her mother and her aunt could fill a book. The story of Jack alone was a big warning sign that she was oblivious to her family's history. _How the hell did I get a B+ on that family tree project? Shoot… I probably didn't deserve more than a C on that. _

"Whatever, Jack," she snorted, not meeting his eyes. It was a lame attempt to change the topic of conversation – he knew it and she knew it. But, before he had the chance to comment on that, Diana continued, "So you explained that. Big deal." Still gripping the photograph, she huffed as she put the picture back into the pile. She did not even bother retying the twine; instead, she slipped it under the loose hold, face-down. Just then, she did not want to be reminded of it.

Once it was out of her sight, she straightened and turned back to face him. Her hands on her hips and an almost irrational amount of disdain fueling her actions, she said, "Besides, that doesn't make you so smart. Now, if you could actually tell me who _murdered _the girl who claim to care _so much _about… maybe then I would clap for you."

Almost as soon as the words were released – spit out in such a way that the words did not seem to be coming from her but, instead, someone that sounded an awful lot like Diana Mason – her hands flew up, covering her mouth. Her eyes, eyes that had been blazing seconds ago from a mixture of shame and embarrassment, softened and she winced.

Any hint of playfulness and mild superiority that had been there before simply evaporated as Jack stared back at her. His posture stiffened, his back straightened and his lips were drawn in a thin line. Calmly – _too calmly_, Diana thought – he reached behind his shoulder and grabbed at the hat that perpetually hung there. Setting it on his head with a soft _plop_, he cleared his throat. She winced a second time. "I wish I could do that." The words were whispered and, though cold, they made Diana's face burn with guilt. "It ain't a game for me, Diana. No matter what you think."

"Jack. I didn't…"

He held his hand up. Whatever she had to say, he did not want – nor need – to hear it. "No. Don't." When she fell silent, heeding his words, he continued, "I was waiting for this. As hard as these last few days might have seemed for you, it's been way too easy. It's not supposed to be this easy. I really was waiting for you to get angry. You _should _get angry. Lord knows the other Daite girls got angry. It's a lot to ask of you. I know—"

But, whatever it was that Jack knew, he never said. Right then, as he continued with his (unexpected) apology, he lifted his head up so that he could look at Diana's face from beneath the brim of his old dusty hat. Something he spied stole his attention and he stopped, mid-sentence. In one motion, he knocked the hat off of his head and appeared before the girl. She never saw him move.

Diana's hands were no longer up, covering her mouth in surprise; they were at her side and, when he was inches before her, she did not have the time to raise them in defense. He was able to reach out and grab at her neck, without anything stopping him. Not that she would have been able to if she had been able to try – there was something about the way he was looking at her now that told Diana that any resistance would be useless.

His fingers brushed against her throat but did not make any further contact before being yanked back. His eyes were narrowed and he was breathing roughly through his nose. Gone was any of the boyish charm or dated simplicity that she had awarded him after their first meeting. This Jack Kelly was akin to the one she had encountered the first time he realized that Oscar Delancey had been in the Penthouse apartment. In a word, he was _frightening. _

"Jack…" she squeaked, intimidated by his proximity. She could feel the heat of his breath and, out of sudden fear, did not even wonder how that was possible, given that he was nearly ninety-nine years dead. "What are you—"

The ghost boy silenced her with a look. Then, with a voice as hard as steel, and as dangerous as a blade, he asked her one question:

"Where did you get that?"


	50. L

Author's Note: _Um… yeah. One of my favorite chapters ever. Scary!Jack is hot. I'm just saying. Plus it's a milestone. Fifty freaking chapters. Holy damn._

_Also, I want to thank everyone for their kind words about my mom. Everything (for the most part) is getting much better and, apart from my wicked ear infection (I am so not good with pain), I'm doing allright. Well, except for minor separation anxiety. I just realized that there is _only _10 chapters left. I guess I'm just gonna have to make each and every one of them count ;) Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

April 18, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FIFTY

--

Her hand flew to her throat. Jack had not moved, apart from glaring unblinkingly at Diana, nor had he said another word but she felt like she knew exactly what he was referring to. There really was no doubt in her mind. It was as if she could see the tarnished silver necklace reflected in his chocolate-colored eyes. She wrapped her pointer finger around the chain, looping it tightly, protectively, around her digit. Almost immediately, she regretted ever putting it on but she stubbornly did not remove the necklace. "What?"

She purposely did not sound as defensive as she wanted to, figuring that a more innocent approach to this might work.

It did not.

"You know what I'm talking about. This," he said, batting aside her hand and slipping his own dirty finger underneath the necklace. He gave it a pull. Whether he was trying to break it off of her neck or not, Diana did not know, but the chain remained in place; however, it did hurt where it pressed against her skin. She winced. "Where did you get it?"

"Get away from me, Jack," she said, her teeth gritting against the force of his tug. He was still way too close and his nerve at grabbing at her further bothered the girl. She wanted space and she wanted it now. "I'm not going to tell you about anything if you keep pulling on me."

He did not respond, nor did he move. He was frozen in place, a less than flattering sneer twisting his face. Putting her hand between them, Diana pushed against his chest. Hard. Luckily for her, his form was tangible and she made contact with him… but, just then, that did not mean anything; he still did not move. It was as if he was a statue. "Jack! I'm not kidding. Move!"

There was a second of silence, when Diana fumed and Jack continued to stare, but it did not last. The ghost boy blinked and, as if he was only just realizing the position he was in, he drew his hand back. "I'm—I'm sorry," he said, blinking again as he took a step away from her. His hand was shaking slightly, his head doing the same. But then he stopped. Lifting his hand again, he pointed one finger at the girl, accusingly. "No. No, I ain't sorry. What's going on, Diana?" His voice was rising and all she could think about was the hope that Kloppman could hear his yells; though, remembering Jack's earlier boasting, she doubted it. "Jeez, kid. What are you playing at?"

"Jack?" she began tentatively, as she took a few steps away from him, widening the gap between them both. She only stopped when she backed into the side table; there was nowhere else for her to go. "What's wrong?" All she had done was put on a necklace – she could not understand the reasoning behind his reaction at all. _What the hell is his problem? _

"What's wrong?" He advanced slowly, his arms outstretched. "First you remind me that I'm a failure and now… do you enjoy taunting me like this? I tried. Damn, did I try! I look at you, I see her. The eyes, the hair, the face… the clothes," he added, gesturing wildly at the plain white blouse she was wearing, "Hell, you even nibble on your bottom lip like she did. From the moment I first met you, it was rough. Oh, I tried." He was only a foot or so away from her when he stopped.

He was glaring at her, a strange expression settling over his features. However, it was not so strange that Diana did not recognize it; it was the same longing look he wore whenever he talked about the dead girl. _Uh-oh. This can't be good… _

"I thought I could keep my distance. Remind myself that its only two months… well, shit. One month. But you knew that. I ain't that great at hiding it, I guess." He laughed, one that she had a hard time understanding as coming from him; given his current state of mind, the laughter seemed unnatural. "Rhiannon made it difficult for me, too. Looking just like _she_ did. And I had to watch her get married – twice. And now there's you. Spitting image of them both… every minute I spend with you, Diana, is a minute that I remember that it's been one hundred years. One hundred years!" His voice grew hoarser as he all but belted his frustrations out at Diana. That familiar lost look vanished. He really was angry.

That was definitely not something she expected Jack to come out with. In the six days that she had known him, this was the first time he had really just let loose with what he was feeling. And, she realized as his eyes blazed and he narrowed in on her, she had taken it for granted that he could feel; not once did she really think about how this whole curse affected him. It had been about her – her family, her vacation, her emotions… not once did she think of Jack.

Well, he was getting back at her for it now. Loudly, too. And it scared her – but not in the way that Jack had frightened her when he popped up behind her in the kitchen, or in the way he had seemed to turn on her when he sensed Oscar Delancey's presence in her bedroom. This time, she could see that he meant it; everything he was yelling about, they were things that he had been holding in for quite some time. And the force with which he was letting them out, sharing his motives and feelings with her… that was what was frightening her.

"Jack—"

He did not stop. "One hundred fucking years." He shook his head, making a disbelieving sound with his lips. "And look at me. One month left and I still don't know anything… and now this. Do you think this is funny? Traipsing around, wearing that same face? And now this?" He leaned in. "You're supposed to be helping me. Helping me, Diana! Not making things worse. Or," he added, as if sudden understanding just dawned on him, "are you working for them? Is that it?" He was suspicious now, but undeservingly so.

His breath felt hot against her skin and, as she inhaled, she detected a faint, sour scent. Quite humorlessly, she wondered if the stale taste of the Devil's poison lingered on his tongue. She decided it would be better if she did not ask; instead, she tried pleading with him. "Jack, stop. Please. You're scaring me."

He jerked as if he had been slapped, recoiling slightly. There was still no more than a foot separating the pair of them so, when he leaned in, he closed the space considerably again. Diana noticed, with his face only inches away from hers, that, at this close a close range, it was easy to see that Jack did not _really _exist. It was possible, as strange as the idea was to her, to just look through him; it was like the bits that made him up were not pieced together entirely and, through the gaps in the connection, she could see the room behind him.

It was something as small as that that reminded Diana just who – _what _– she was dealing with. Jack Kelly was a ghost. He had committed suicide nearly ninety-nine years ago. And, trapped in that room, magically configured so that no sound could get out when he was inside… well, Kloppman would never hear her scream. Just then her level of intimidation rose – but that was not all. She was quickly growing her spine back; she was getting very frustrated with the ghost boy's sudden temper tantrum.

"Oh," he said, lowering his voice so much so that he was now whispering, "I'm scaring you?" It was strange. The last time she had told him that he frightened her, he had gotten remorseful; this time, he sounded almost pleased with himself. At the very least, his lips started to rise. He was definitely enjoying this. She could not believe it. "I'm a ghost, Diana. What am I supposed to do? Be your friend?"

That was a low blow. She had thought that, while the two of them worked together during the summer – _Summer my ass… One month, I knew it… I wonder how long he was going to keep that from me… _– that they could be friends. She did not want to tell him that, though, nor did she want to allow him to continue treating her like this.

In a battle between nervousness and annoyance, her annoyance was the victor.

Taking a deep breath, she set her hands against her hips. "Why are you doing this? I thought you were nice. You didn't act like this at all before. Is it that I'm getting too close? Is that why you're blaming me?" All of a sudden, one line from the meeting with the cats stuck out into her mind: _Asssk the Massster. _She did not think about it, really, nor did she wonder precisely what Four meant with her words. Diana had only one thing she wanted to ask him, one thing she wanted to hear from his lips. So, she just turned on him, the words escaping before she knew it. "Tell me, Jack. Did you kill Stress?"

Really, Diana needed to learn to control herself. Between asking a great deal of questions and blurting out assumptions at the worst of times, the girl was getting herself into trouble. This was a perfect example of that.

Jack paused, his mouth open, gaping like a fish. It was as if he had something that he wanted to say but he could not find the words to say it. Her accusation struck him harder than anything she could have tossed his way; with those four words, Diana had successfully swayed him from his earlier rant. However, it only served to make the situation worse. Much worse.

"Did I? Did I?" If she considered what he was doing before slightly shaking, then he was definitely trembling now. "Why? Is that what Les said? Huh?" Then, before she even had a second to process what he was doing, Jack drew his hand back and swung. "Fuck that!"

But he did not swing at her; instead, he swung past her, aiming his open palm at the table that was behind her. She flinched – he did not notice – as he lashed out at the 'Fate' box. She expected a crash that did not come; instead, she heard a frustrated grunt. That was almost bad as the uncharacteristic curse words he was violently spewing.

Jack growled in annoyance when, two inches away from the closed cedar box, the old blood seal forced him backwards. He had just enough time to go intangible so, when he flew, he did not hit Diana at all.

But he did land on his rear. Irrationally angry – at that point, he could not even remember what exactly set him off, he was in such a fog – and obviously embarrassed, Jack floated upwards. He was vertical, yet he was most definitely off of the ground. His hair was fanning out around him and, unless she was imagining it, his eyes, which were once brown, were a mix between a vivid red and a striking silver, the colors blending in a way that made her nauseous.

And _that _was when he began to whirl around.

Diana was so frightened right then that she did not know what to do. Hearing that Jack was a ghost, and knowing that he was dead, was one thing; seeing him spin around like a top, conjuring up a great deal of wind around his body, was another. So, shutting her eyes tight and hoping that this was all just a bad dream, Diana chose to pretend like none of this was happening. "La la la," she muttered to herself, clamping her hands over her ears.

Those hands did not block out all of the noise. She heard a loud sound, almost like that of a door slamming, followed by sudden quiet. The room went still, the air that Jack had caused to whir settling. She heard a few things fall to the floor, thudding as they made contact with the carpet. Slowly lowering her hands while cocking open one of her eyes, Diana dared a glance. Jack was gone. She was alone. And the room was a mess.

Concerned, and very confused, Diana sat herself down on her bed. It was hard for her to digest all that she had just witnessed – in one quick turn of events, everything she had known about the ghost boy had been proven false. She had never guessed that he was holding all of that inside of him; she had never expected him to throw them at her, neither – it was bad enough that, for a second, she thought he was going to hit her. Though, if anything, she definitely preferred the heated words to unwarranted violence. The strange display of supernatural powers was a whole other matter…

Now, despite the way that Jack had just had a fit, there was really only one thing currently on Diana's mind. On the second day that she spent with Jack, the day that he brought her to his hideaway, he had made a comment that, at the time, she thought was a bit of off-handed bragging: _I'm a ghost. I can do a lot of things. _

_I'll be damned, _she thought to herself, mainly because she did not want to think about anything else right then. _He wasn't lying. _

--

Alfred Kloppman was putting the finishing touches on Diana's breakfast – freshly made pancakes with sliced strawberries – when he felt it: a rush of power being released in the apartment. The force of it was so strong that, when it whooshed past him, thin, white wisps of his hair moved with the supernatural wind; his glasses were knocked askew. He very nearly lost his balance, a wrinkled hand jutting out in time to grab hold of the counter for support.

It was not something he was overly familiar with but, over the course of the last one hundred years, he was acquainted with the magic enough so that he knew what it was. Sighing, he straightened himself up, shaking his head. "Oh, Cowboy. What did you do now?"

Jack, he knew, did not grow angry very easily. When the boy had been alive, he had been in the habit of keeping many of his more complex emotions hidden. Amusement and indignation were much more readily available; in order to reveal the anger or, even, the honesty he kept inside, one had to dig a bit.

Kloppman had the sudden suspicioun that Miss Mason had, somehow, hit pay dirt. The last time that the butler remembered such a flow of energy, it had been the day when the fourth generation girl was supposed to arrive but did not. And that had felt like a summer breeze in comparison to the tornado that Jack had just produced.

Wiping his hands against his pants, the old man wondered if he should intrude. There had been one too many close calls these past few days and he did not want to start poking his nose in again. The last thing that he and Jack needed was for the girl to deduce their relationship right before the deadline hit. It was bad enough that she learned of Oscar Delancey; he did not think it would be good at all if she discovered that he was just as cursed as the rest of them.

Then again, he _had _promised to serve the girl breakfast. It had not gone by unnoticed that, in the six days she had been in New York, Diana had already started to lose some weight. Kloppman knew that sudden, prolonged exposure to the magic was enough to rob even the hungriest of their appetite and, in his opinion, the teenager was already far too thin. If she was feeling up to eating something, it was his responsibility as guardian over the Daite family to ensure that she ate.

Nodding, Kloppman added a few napkins to the tray that already held the plate full of pancakes. A glass of milk, a small jar of maple syrup and a set of silverware completed the setup. He lifted it slowly, so as not to jostle the full glass, before softly padding his way out of the kitchen. He could tell from the dramatic exit that Jack had just made that the girl would be alone when he arrived so, rather than take his time, he headed straight to the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall.

Balancing the tray in one hand, Kloppman made a loose fist and knocked against the door. "Miss Mason? I've brought your breakfast."

He could hear the vague sound of something rustling, followed by, "Mr. Kloppman? I'll… uh… yeah. You can come in… I guess…"

There was something about the way that Diana said that that made him nervous. "Alright, Miss," he answered, reaching for the doorknob. It turned slowly under his hand and, once the door clicked open, he used his hip to push it inward, once more balancing the breakfast tray with both hands. "I hope you enjoy pancakes and… strawberries…" His words trailed to a close, his blue eyes widening in surprise, as he made to look at Diana but, instead, glanced over the room.

It seemed as if his earlier characterization of Jack's exit as a tornado was much more on target than he had realized. The room was a mess. There were photographs as well as various pieces of paper littered all over, the pink comforter was half hanging off of the bed, the side table's drawer was pulled open and everything she had set atop of that table was lying haphazardly across the floor.

And there, standing beside the bed, her hands folded behind her back and one hell of a sheepish grin plastered on her obviously flustered face, was Diana. "Thanks, Mr. Kloppman. Strawberries are my favorite."

"That's—that's nice," Kloppman replied, distracted. He shook his head shortly, trying not to stare, as he entered the room. He approached the girl and, due to the newly acquired vacancy on the table by the bed, he set the breakfast tray down. He checked to make sure that it would not fall and, when he was sure that the meal was steady, he backed away from it, his hands resting at his side.

The old man began to walk back over to the bedroom door but, when he made his way halfway across the room, he stopped. Turning around, he waved his right hand at the mess. "Is there… is there anything you would like me to help you with, Miss Mason?" he asked, trying to sound helpful. It was difficult to mask the note of curiosity that crept into his voice; he really wanted to know what happened without actually asking her.

He did not think that she could shake her head fast enough. "No, no, Mr. Kloppman. I'm fine. Just had an… accident, I guess. Everything's alright." She flashed him a strained smile as she stooped down and picked up a very ratty looking stuffed deer. He watched the girl give the toy a quick squeeze before setting it at the base of the headboard. "See? I'm just gonna clean up and then eat my food." Diana leaned over and inhaled over the still partially steaming pancakes. "Mmm… they smell great. Thank you."

"Of course, Miss Mason. Enjoy."

Kloppman was very confused at the way the young girl was acting but, as he nodded and excused himself from the room, he wondered if, perhaps, this was the way that all the youngsters acted nowadays. Not that he really had much time to wonder about Miss Mason's troublesome behavior – he was more concerned with what had gone on between Jack and Diana to make him storm off and her cover for his outburst.

_Children, _he mused as he closed the bedroom door behind him and started to head back to the kitchen. _Near two hundred years working with the young'n's and I still haven't the foggiest idea to what makes them tick. _

--

As soon as she saw that the old man had left her alone in the room, Diana let out a sigh of relief. In the aftermath of Jack's arrival and subsequent departure – which she was still trying to figure out – she had forgotten that her aunt's butler had offered to provide her with breakfast. And, of course, he had chosen the most inopportune time to bring the meal to her – right after Jack had left her with one hell of a mess.

His photographs had been lifted into the air with the gust of wind he had produced, settling all over the room when the tantrum ended. Almost everything had been knocked off of the side table by the force; Bambi had landed right near her feet. She did not even see her cell phone.

Diana had not wanted to do anything right after Jack left. Her mind was whirring nearly as fast as the ghost boy himself had spun, wondering what could have brought this severe change in demeanor on Jack's part about. 

And that's when Mr. Kloppman had decided to bring her the breakfast. She had forgotten all about his generous gesture. Quickly trying to straighten up some of the pictures while, at the same time, pick the fallen comforter off of the floor, she realized that it would be futile to try to clean up the mess that fast. So, instead, she told the elderly butler to come in and prayed that he did not have any questions. She was afraid that, if he did, she would not have the answers.

He did not linger in the room and, for that, she was thankful. He appeared just as confused as she felt but, luckily, did not say anything other than asking her if she needed any help. Diana was quick to decline and Kloppman had no choice but to leaver her alone. She noticed that he closed the door behind him and was glad. Right then, she _wanted_ to be alone. When he had entered, she had made sure to adopt a very phony expression just so that he would not be suspicious – she did not think that worked as well as she had hoped, though; Kloppman had seemed very suspicious as he left – but, now that he was gone, she felt free to let her true emotions out.

At first, right after Jack vanished, she had been extremely confused, the confusion replacing the intense level of intimidation she had experienced while he was confronting her. But, now… now she was angry. How dare he blow up at her like that? And over what? A silly piece of jewelry that someone had left behind in her aunt's guest bedroom?

Still standing, Diana hooked her thumb underneath the chain and looked down at it. Only a sliver of the silver necklace was visible but it did not seem like anything special to her. Especially not something that should entice the ghost boy to explode in the way that he had.

_Ah, but I don't really think it was about this damn necklace. It's almost like he's been holding all that in and was just waiting for the perfect time to let it out. _She snorted, letting the chain fall back against her throat. _Doofus. I can't believe he had the nerve to yell at me like that! It's not my fault that I happen to look like Stress. Or Rhiannon, for that matter. They're called genes, genius. Can't control them. _

The more she dwelled on it, the angrier she got. There she was, willingly giving up her summer vacation for a ghost who was unappreciative of her sacrifice. So what if he had already sacrificed far more than she had? It was not like she was the one who killed Stress; in a strange way, she still had the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. Despite what Stress had told her, she could not shake the idea that Jack was partially responsible – if not entirely responsible – for her murder. Not to mention that his reaction to her blunt question did not help him assert his innocence at all.

Her fists curled and her stomach turned. The hunger that she had felt prior to taking her shower disappeared as she stewed over what had just happened; the sweet smell of the fresh strawberries made her feeling of nausea return and she could not imagine even taking one bite of the pancakes. Silently cursing Jack – he had ruined her day for her – she approached the side table and placed a napkin over the food. Whenever she had the chance, she would have to hide the food in the garbage before the butler found out that she did not eat it.

_What should I do now? _ It was, according to her watch, only a few minutes past eleven o'clock. She had at least seven hours – assuming that her aunt brought Tony Higgins home with her – until dinner at six. What could she do to occupy her time until then? She doubted that Ariadne would want her to go out without a chaperone and, besides, she could not, for the life of her, think of anything out in the City that she wanted to see at that moment.

"I guess I should clean this up," she said to herself, casting a furtive glance around the room. It was not as bad as it had first seemed but, since it was Jack's fault, she felt a bit indignant at having to pick everything up. But she knew she had to. It was one thing for Kloppman to come in and leave just as swiftly but, should Ariadne stop by the room, Diana knew she would have to explain. And how was she supposed to explain that Jack accused her of looking like two people long since dead and had a fit?

Rolling her eyes at the injustice of it all, she reached down. She had already retrieved Bambi from the carpet, placing her beloved toy at a place of honor at the head of the bed; she grabbed at the 'Fate' box next. It had fallen alongside the edge of the bed, top down, and, she noticed, the force of the drop from the side table had knocked the lid open. Everything that had been stored inside of it – the blank black book and the photo of Les and Rhiannon that Diana had kept – fell out.

Diana scooped up the book and the photo, placing them back inside the open cedar box before rising. She made to place the box back on the small table's top but paused when something else caught her eye: a piece of white paper that had been resting underneath the open box. Curious, she squatted and retrieved that as well.

The one side of it was blank. Flipping it over, she saw the small, slanted (and somewhat smudged) pencil words: _Patrick Conlon, 201-368-9014. Call me, hon._

Nodding, she remembered. The cab driver. The _cute _cab driver.

And that was when Diana got an idea. Jack had ruined her day for her – showing up in her bedroom, expecting her to do everything he said but storming off when something did not go exactly his way. Well, how would he like it if she turned the tables on him? She was going to do the same to him. She was going to ruin _his _day instead. After all, it was only fair.

Besides, she could not be expected to spend her entire vacation sitting inside the guest room of the Penthouse apartment, could she? And Patrick Conlon had told her to call him anytime she needed a ride.

_I guess I'm just gonna have to take him up on that offer… _

It took her a few seconds but, eventually, she found the red cell phone underneath the bed – though she could not figure how it got under there. There was still one bar left for the battery so, glancing at the scrap of paper so as not to enter the wrong digits, she dialed the phone number, pressing each button triumphantly. She felt quite a bit daring, calling a man she had only seen twice, but, when she remembered how Jack had treated her after all the help she had offered, it did not seem so strange – at least, no stranger than dealing with a ghost.

In fact, it seemed as if she had discovered the best plan for the afternoon: she would show Jack that he could not treat her in such a way without her standing up for herself while, at the same time, giving herself something to do before her aunt and her _date_ arrived.

As the phone connected and she could hear the echo of the ring, Diana smiled. She could not wait to see Jack's face when she showed up at his hideaway.


	51. LI

Author's Note: _I hope you guys like this chapter. It's something entirely different than the majority of Diabo has been, but I like it. And it shows Diana outside of her role in the curse. I've been waiting ages to do that. And it's nice and long - plus it stars Patrick. You have to love that!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

April 28, 2007

_A Devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was._

--

PART FIFTY ONE

--

The satisfaction she had felt when she first thought up a way to get back at Jack did not last; when Patrick Conlon did not pick up his phone right away, her sense of triumph started to dim. Somewhere in between the third and fourth ring, Diana began to question her _brilliant _idea. By the sixth ring, she was wondering what the hell had possessed her to try to contact the cab driver. At the seventh ring, she was trying to figure out why she had not hung up her phone yet.

The answer to that was simple. Just as the eighth ring began to sound, someone finally answered the phone. "Conlon, here. Who the fuck are you?"

It was definitely the heavily accented voice that she remembered; even if he had not answered with his name, Diana would have known it was him. Even the obscenity seemed to fit her idea of the brash, yet handsome, New York cabbie. He sounded out of breath, too, as if he had just made a mad dash for the phone, panting slightly as he demanded to know who was calling him.

It was not the sort of greeting that she had been expecting and it caught her off guard. She gaped wordlessly at the glowing green screen, unable to reply.

"Hey? Anyone there?" Now he sounded mildly annoyed. "Listen, if this is you fucking with me again, Woody, I'm goin—"

Diana found her voice just in time to cut off Patrick's threats. "No, this isn't… er… Woody." Suddenly feeling very foolish – and adding this embarrassment to the growing list of things that she was holding Jack accountable for – she continued, "I don't know if you remember me or not… but… um… my name is Diana. Uh, you told me to call you if I needed a ride." She hated the way her voice went all apologetic. But there was something about the manner with which he spoke that made her feel guilty for bothering to call him.

"Diana…" He paused for a second and she could almost hear the whirring of his brain as he tried to place her name. Then, all of a sudden, it clicked. "Oh, I got you. No. 9, on Duane. That Diana. Right?" He cleared his throat and, this time, when he spoke, his voice seemed a lot smoother, his entire demeanor changed. "Hey… how have you been? I was wondering if you were ever going to call."

Somehow, she had a hard time believing that; it was easier for her to think that he had no clue as to who he was talking to. She was glad that there was no way for him to see her through the phone. Her face was bright red. Sincerely regretting picking up the phone and calling this man, she said, "I've been just fine, I guess. I was, you know, wondering if you were, I don't know, out… working… or something? I kind of need that ride."

"You're in luck. I just picked up my hack," he told her and Diana could only assume that, by 'hack', he meant 'taxi cab'. "So, are you still over on Duane? Or do you need me to meet you somewhere else?" He paused, waiting for her answer. With his silence, she could hear, in the background, the tell-tale noise of the busy Manhattan traffic – including the obnoxious blaring of an all too close horn; most likely, it was from Patrick's cab. However, the young driver did not sound bothered at all. When he spoke again, she could almost imagine an amused expression on his face. "Hey. Wait a sec. You aren't in any trouble, are you? 'Cause I charge extra for the whole damsel in distress, rescue-type thing."

She could not tell if he was being serious or not. Assuming that that was his attempt at putting her at ease – he had to have noticed how nervous she was; her voice had nearly cracked when she offered him her name – Diana forced out a weak chuckle. "No, no. I'm okay. And I'm still at my aunt's place. Duane Street. I just need to go… somewhere," she said, not really sure how she was going to explain to him about her destination. Hopefully, the cab driver would not ask what she was doing, approaching the side of a bank rather than the front door.

"Somewhere, huh? Yeah… I think I can fit you into my schedule. You want I should swing by now?"

Diana glanced down at her watch. It was a quarter after eleven already. Nodding to herself, keeping the phone rested between her ear and her shoulder, she started to tell him 'yes' but stopped before she had even formed the first syllable of the word. The room was still a mess, she knew, and her breakfast needed to be taken care of – one way or another. Not to mention that she, all of a sudden, had the insane urge to fix her hair before he arrived. "Um… do you think you can come at noon instead? I should be ready then."

If he was at all curious as to why she phoned him for a cab ride only to tell him to come at twelve, he did not sound it. "That's cool. I'll pick up a couple of fares until noon or so and then head downtown." She could hear tires squealing in the background, followed by another series of extremely loud horn blasts, but Patrick sounded as calm as ever. "I'll meet you in front of your building. I'll be the one in yellow, honking the horn to get your attention. Oh, wait. That's every damn cab in New York."

The laugh was less forced this time. It felt kind of nice – incredibly awkward, definitely strange, but kind of nice – to be talking to someone who was not dead or, perhaps, a figment of her imagination. Or someone who was not related to her. Or not older than dirt, even.

And the fact that she found Patrick Conlon to be attractive did not hurt, either.

"Uh… thanks," she said, wishing that she was coherent enough to start her sentences with something other than 'uh' or 'um', "I guess I'll see you at twelve."

"It's a date."

There was no denying the flirtatious warmth that caused Diana's cheeks to heat up but, somehow, she found a way; it was much too much for her to recognize his behavior as flirting. So, rather than come up with some childish reply – _I am _not _going to giggle! _– she did the next best thing: she ended the conversation. "Well, bye," she squeaked out and, before he had the chance to respond, she removed the phone from her ear. With one quick push of the red 'end' key, she cut the connection.

Only then, when she was sure that he could not hear her, did she let out an excited squeal as she sat back down on her bed. She did not know, really, nor did she care, why he was being so nice to her; it only mattered that he was. After the way that Jack had treated her, Patrick's goofy jokes and easygoing manner were a welcome change.

--

She stared at her reflection, incredibly relieved that, for once, it really was her reflection that occupied the bathroom mirror. The green eyes were her own, the round face was the one she had always known. In fact, the only thing that was similar to Stress was the hair; as soon as she had gotten off the phone, Diana had removed her hair tie, letting her curls settle around her shoulder. A simple tiny clip – she had swore, when her mother bought those clear plastic things, that she would never wear them but Arianrhod had insisted on adding them to her luggage; she could just kiss her mother for that now – kept her hair out of her face. She did not look half bad.

Diana had, also, changed out of her earlier clothes – though that had nothing (for the most part) to do with the impending encounter with Patrick Conlon. It still irked her how Jack had accused her of purposely making herself look like Stress so, in order to avoid another argument over that, she traded the white blouse for a pale yellow tank; she did keep the jeans shorts on. It was too hot outside – not too mention sticky – to wear anything else.

There were faint butterflies fluttering around in her somewhat full stomach and she regretted making herself eat. After straightening up her bedroom as best she could, the girl had attempted to choke down as much breakfast as she could. She still had not felt like eating but the mild paranoia that her stomach would decide to growl on the way to Jack's hideaway enticed her to eat the pancakes. She was sure that the cab driver already thought she was an idiot; she did not want to do anything else to add to his assessment.

Glancing down at her oversized watch, Diana saw that it was just about noon. Those butterflies began to flap a bit faster, alerting her to their presence. For reasons she could not fully understand, she was nervous about meeting up with the cabbie again. It was strange, though. She had no nerves when it came to spending time with Jack or anyone else. But, somehow, Patrick made her nervous.

The idea that this was the first real (live) boy that showed interest in her never crossed her mind; after spending thirteen years attending an all girl's Catholic school, Diana was about to spend time – _purposely_ – with a boy that she was definitely attracted to.

It almost made dealing with Jack's Devil curse worth it. _Almost_.

Trying to quash the giddiness that filled her every time she thought that, perhaps, she could get along with a boy who was not a ghost or a relative, she winked at her reflection. The dark circles that had plagued her the day before had all but faded after a full night's rest; her long, loose curls were as nice as she was going to get them, considering the humidity. Plus – and this was a big one – it was _still _her reflection she was facing. In the twenty minutes that she had spent, staring in the large bathroom mirror, Stress had not once popped in to say "hello".

It was slightly worrying, considering that she had become deeper involved with all of this supernatural stuff with every passing day, but she tried not to dwell on it. It was not as if she was _trying _to summon Stress to her; she just wondered why the dead girl had not made an appearance yet.

_She probably overheard that fight I had with Jack, _Diana thought as she exited the bathroom, flicking the light switch off as she left the small room, _and is pissed at me. I mean, I know she keeps insisting that he didn't do it but, come on, he was acting way too guilty before. _She shook her head – gently so as not to muss up her hair; if her mother could see her acting so prissy, she would have had a field day – and, checking her pockets to make sure that she had her phone and adequate money (in case her earlier assumption was true and Patrick only talked to her because she was a big tipper), began to head out of the apartment.

At the front door she paused, wondering if she should tell Mr. Kloppman where she was going or, since that would be pointless, leave a note saying that she just went out to "explore". With another glance down at her watch – it was already five after and she was pretty sure she heard the obnoxious sound of a horn being honked out front – she decided against it. It was not like she would be gone _too _long, anyway.

She did not have the time to take the stairs so Diana chose to use the elevator. Once she had made it to the ground floor, she hurried through the lobby, adopting a nervous smile when she saw that there was taxicab waiting right outside of the building. Slowing her pace so that she could make sure that it was Patrick who was driving the cab, she squinted slightly as she stared in through the open window on the passenger side.

Even though it had been two days since she saw him, she recognized him. Not that that was necessary, really. His face had been turned toward the entrance of the building and, when he saw her emerge, he honked the horn again. "Hey, Diana," he hollered, his voice carrying through that same open window. "Over here!"

The butterflies flapped just a bit harder and she was surprised. She had not thought that she could get any more nervous and, besides, he was just a guy. A good looking guy, sure, but still a guy. It was not as if he had supernatural powers like Jack had; he was just a normal, average guy.

It was strange. After six days being immersed in ghosts, curses and black magic, she was more nervous about taking a taxi ride than confronting the ghost boy again.

The thought of Jack and the face he would make when she showed up at his hideaway was enough to still the figurative butterflies that had taken up residence in her abdomen. She wanted nothing more, just then, than to finish the argument that Jack had started. It was a matter of pride – she was not going to let Jack Kelly walk all over her like that.

Widening her smile, Diana approached the taxi. She lowered herself slightly, bending her knees so that she could see inside the open window. Patrick was sitting lazily in the driver seat, one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm resting against the seat. His lip curled slightly when he saw her. "Your chariot awaits." He nodded at her. "Hop in."

"Thanks." There was only a slight crack to her voice as she took a step to her left and reached for the back seat's door handle. However, she paused when Patrick shook his head at her.

"No, no," he said before leaning over and opening the passenger seat for the front. He shifted in his seat, moving over, before patting the space beside him. "Here. Sit up front with me."

She could not help it this time. Before she knew it, her cheeks had heated up again. It was one thing to call up some boy she had met and ask him to specifically search her out in order to provide her his service; it was another thing, entirely, for him to offer her special treatment. "Oh, no. I couldn't—"

Patrick was not having any of that. "I insist."

_Well… if he insists… _There was really no other way. She needed a ride over to Jack's place and, after two rides already, Patrick had proven that he could get around the City without killing anyone. She nodded as she slipped inside of the cab. "Okay, I guess."

He let out a snort that almost doubled as a short laugh. "You make it sound like it's so horrible," he joked, lifting one of his tan hands to ruffle the top of his dirty blonde hair. The action made him look all the more adorable – she had the feeling that he knew that; hence the reason his cyan eyes were sparkling mischievously.

Diana gulped and, for a second, she wondered if, perhaps, this was not the smartest idea. It really was not _that _far to where Jack stayed. A taxi ride really was not necessary. But, then again, she needed something to brag about to her friends when she went back to New Jersey at the end of the summer. She knew she could not tell them anything about Jack – but Patrick was fair game. She allowed herself to smile at him. "I'm sorry. I've never ridden up front in a cab before." _Again with the apologetic voice… uck. I need to stop simpering_. She cleared her throat. "It's pretty cool." _There. I sound more like myself. Good. _

Patrick raised his eyebrow at the differing tones of voice. Assuming that she was just getting adjusted to being in his company – they did not really know each other though he was definitely hoping that that would change soon – he prepared himself to start the cab again. "Alright then, Diana. Now that we're all comfortable… you are comfortable, right?" She nodded. He continued, "Good. Time to get professional." He cleared his throat and, when he spoke again, he made his voice sound nasally. "Where to, miss?"

Despite letting out her own version of a small laugh at his antics, Diana felt her stomach drop. It was at that moment that she, for the first time, realized that she had no idea where she needed to go. Or, better, it was not that she did not know where she was going; it was that she had no idea how to tell Patrick where she needed to be. "Um… well… I have to go to a bank." And that was it. No name, no address – she just could not, for the life of her, give him more information than that.

He was still idling at the curb, waiting for her to give him something more to go on than that. When she did not offer anything else, he said, "A bank?" He was no longer playing around with her; instead, he was visibly confused. There had to be hundreds of banks in Manhattan.

"Yeah. A bank."

"Any bank?"

"No… It's a… it's a _particular _bank."

"Oh."

Patrick still did not pull back onto the road. His hands on the steering wheel, foot on the brake, he still waited – and Diana could tell that was exactly what he was doing. Fighting the embarrassment that was threatening to rise – she could not understand how something as significant as the address had gone by unnoticed – she thought back, trying to remember where Jack had taken her last Friday.

She knew that Jack's small nook – _Which should not even exist_, she could not help but add to herself – was not really that far away. Perhaps fifteen, maybe twenty blocks at the most. And she had only gone over one cross street (that she could remember; directions were not really her strong suit). "It's on a corner," she told him, glad that she even had that much more to add, "a little bit that ways, one street over." Diana pointed one of her fingers in front of her as she shrugged, trying to make it look like she was not as bothered as she was. "I'll… uh… I'll know it when I see it, if that helps any."

"Alright. Sounds good to me."

And, with a squeal of the tires, Patrick lifted his foot off the brake, slamming it down onto the accelerator. He spun the wheel, jerking it roughly so that he was able to rattle down Duane before an oncoming truck could get in front of him. He pretended he did not hear her gasp of surprise but his satisfied smirk betrayed him.

She did not say anything else to him right away. Keeping her eyes wide and glancing around so that they did not pass the bank without her seeing it, she tried not to let his maniacal driving style bother her. However, when he finally hit a red light, she took a break from looking out on the streets; she looked around the interior of the cab, instead. And that was when she noticed that he had never turned on the fare meter.

Pointing at it, she said, "Um… Patrick? I don't think you ever set your thingy, there. The ticker's not running. How am I going to know how much I owe?"

His cyan eyes slid over and, just as she said, the meter was still set to zero. "Don't worry about it. I did it on purpose."

"On purpose?" She did not understand. "Why would you do that?"

Wondering just how more obvious he had to be, Patrick turned to look at her. "You didn't think I was gonna charge you for this ride, did you? I'm doing this as a favor."

"Really?" If her face had not already been stained red just from being so close to him – their legs were very nearly touching though that might have been because Patrick liked to sit with his legs spread slightly; it did not even dawn on her that his slouching was done purposely as well – she would have turned the color of a tomato. Aware that he was waiting for her to say something else, she offered, "I bet you say that to all the girls you let sit up front with you."

"Well, I gotta say, you're the first one I'm doing this for. You should feel honored, Diana." There was that smirk again but she only caught a glimpse of it before the light changed, he faced the road and sped off again.

She was surprised but did not want to show it. Again, she could not tell if he was being serious or not – he seemed to always be joking around; it was hard to tell that he was anything but amused – but a small part of her felt flattered anyway. Willing her cheeks to fade back to white rather than red, she said, "But wouldn't you get in trouble if your boss found out?"

"I don't know. Are you going to tell on me?"

Before she could stop herself, she lowered her eyes, glancing out at him out of the corner. Her lip curled slightly, not quite noticeably, but enough that she realized that she was being coy. It was exciting, in a way. Her friends back in New Jersey would never believe that she sat up front with a _cute _(that was important) cab driver, flirting with him as he brought her to speak with a ghost. _Well, the first part is almost as unbelievable as the second part, _she thought to herself before saying to Patrick, "If I did, I wouldn't have a cabbie to call, would I?"

He laughed. It was a rich and hearty sound, one that further fluttered those butterflies in her stomach. He shook his head as he did, covering his eyes with one hand, leaving the other draped lazily over the steering wheel. "No, I guess you wouldn't," he admitted, letting his hand fall to his lap, his thin lips curved into a handsome grin.

Diana was glad that he did. All flirtation aside, her heart jumped when she saw that he had was not paying attention to the road; her hand had already slowly began to reach for the door handle, just in case. "So," she began, suddenly curious and somewhat desperate to change the subject, "how long have you been a cab driver?"

She was well aware that she was engaging in small talk and, not for the first time, felt like a complete idiot. _I don't get it… I had no problem talking with Jack from the first moment I met him but I sound like a moron every time I open my mouth in front of Patrick. I wonder if this has anything to do with him having a pulse… _

But, whether he was actually paying attention to where he was driving or he just chose to let her nervousness slide, Patrick did not crack on her choice of a topic of conversation. He just nodded, his eyes darting to and fro as he watched for Diana's mystery bank to appear. "Not too long, I guess. I never got around to getting my license so, when I celebrated my twentieth birthday back in February, I figured it was about time. Then, when my last job canned me… driving a hack sounded like fun." He chuckled to himself, just as he exited out onto Broadway, nearly colliding with another cab that was turning onto the side street, "You'd be surprised at how easy it was to get this job."

That time Diana's hand made it to the door handle, thin fingers wrapping tightly around it. She swallowed, her stomach flip-flopping in a way that had nothing to do with Patrick being so close to her. "Actually, I'm not all that surprised," she replied, weakly. Somehow, hearing that he had not had a license for more than four months made a lot of sense to her. That did not mean, however, that she liked it.

She decided to drop the conversation then, turning her attention back to the streets. The area looked familiar to her and she was beginning to think that she was very quickly closing in on the bank that marked Jack's secret hideaway.

That was when she saw it. It was on a corner, right beside an open side street: the Commerce Bank at 666 Broadway. She had found it. "That's it," Diana said abruptly, pointing out of the open window at the upcoming bank. "That's the bank."

Patrick stepped on the brakes, squealing the tires again, as he turned the wheel, pulling up in front of the bank. The van that was behind him honked its annoyance at the quick stop but, this time, not even Diana noticed. She was way too busy patting herself on the back for finding the bank. She had, though she would not admit it, been almost worried that she would not come across it.

"Here we are," Patrick said and, unless she was imagining it, he looked a little put out that the ride was over. At the very least, his smirk was gone.

"Yeah…" she agreed, still sitting beside him. She made to reach in her pocket and pull out the money she had stashed there – she felt that she should pay him, no matter what he said – but, as she did so, he placed his hand on her bare shoulder.

"Like I said, don't worry about it. My treat," he told her and she sheepishly let her hand fall to her side. He grinned. "So, you want me to stick around while you do what you got to do? I don't mind."

_Uh-oh. _She had not even thought about that. She had told him that she needed to go to a bank and, normally, people did not need to stay in one long. _Of course he would offer to wait_, she realized. _I'd need a ride home, wouldn't I? _But she was not planning on being done that quickly; she had business to attend to with Jack. Who knew how long that would last? _Now, how do I explain that? Crap. _"That's… that's okay. I… uh… I'm going to be in there awhile. College stuff, you know? It could be hours." _There. That doesn't sound _too _lame… I hope. _

Patrick nodded his understanding. "Okay, Diana. I got you. But, you've still got my number, yeah? If it ain't too late or nothing, you can always let me know if you want a ride back." Then, once again lifting his hand so that he was absently ruffling the front pieces of his short hair, he added, "And, I'm off the clock at six. Maybe we could catch a bite to eat or something." He let his hand fall as suavely as he could manage as he jerked his head in her direction. "I still owe you that tour."

"You know what? I'd really like that." She nodded, opening the front door. Diana climbed out of the cab, closing the door gently. "Thanks again," she said, the butterflies _finally_ calm enough that she could speak without feeling like a complete fool. "That was really nice of you."

"Hey. I'm a nice guy. What can I say?"

She laughed. "Yeah. I'll… um… I'll talk to you later?"

"You know it," Patrick returned, winking at her. He was having a grand old time, making her blush. She was cute when she got all flustered like that.

"Cool," she said, taking a few steps away from the cab, walking backwards. She was waiting for him to pull away from the curb so that she could walk over to the side of the building and try to confront Jack through the brick wall without Patrick thinking she was a complete nutcase. When he did not move from his place at the side of the road, she waved, "Bye." With an impish grin, she turned around and made to walk to the entrance of the bank.

His cyan eyes never left her back.

* * *

End Note_: I just wanted to add two things. One: There was a third companion piece written. _Research_, a short piece focusing on Tony, the Devil and the Cearr twins in 1974._ _Just in case you wanted to read it ;)  
__  
And Two: the reason why this chapter took so long to get out – besides the length and the trouble I had with writing a chapter that did not deal explicitly with Diana and Jack – was because I've been working on editing/rewriting some of the earlier chapters. So far, I'm up to chapter six. The whole first meeting between Jack and Diana was redone (chapters four and five specifically) and I'm really happy with the way it is now. The earlier chapters have been bugging me for a bit so I hope they flow a bit better now. Yay._

_PS. There really is a bank at 666 Broadway. It worked so beautifully with the plot of the story that I couldn't resist throwing it in. _


	52. LII

Author's Note: _Intense writer's block plus evil computer problems equals way too long since my last update. Sorry about that but, on the positive side, this chapter brings back our two favorite characters. It's a bit of a weird chapter but it's important (not like I'm ever going to admit to a chapter that's not important, eh? Ha.) Enjoy._

_And, of course, Happy Mother's Day to anyone who celebrates – and to all your Mommy's, too. Yay._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

May 13, 2007

_A devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is._

--

PART FIFTY TWO

--

With a rush of air, he landed, settling right in the center of his small nook. He just missed landing on Four's long, thin tail; the cat, sensing his highly incensed supernatural power, hid under the bed as Jack was arriving. The tornado he had created in Diana's room had yet to slow entirely but, once he was away from the girl, his anger had started to fade. A mixture ofn regret and frustration replaced it as he let out a huge rush of air.

It was a struggle to regain his breath as a wave of fatigue washed over the ghost boy; as soon as he was still, hunched over, his hands on his knees, Jack realized that he was panting. The energy he exerted when leaving Diana behind had cost him. He felt faint but did not have the strength to do anything but mutter to himself. Which he did, in a tone that was similar to the one he used when confronting Diana over the simple silver chain.

"I can't believe that girl. All I ever wanted was for her to help me like the other Daite's did. But no… she has to make everything so damn difficult. And where the hell did she get that necklace from? It was… it was gone, I thought." He was dizzy and realized that it was because he was vehemently shaking his head in rhythm to his heated mumblings. He stopped. "What is _wrong _with her?" _Or me… Fuck. _

"Meow?"

Sliding his eyes over to the side, he could barely make out Four's bushy brown head, peeking out curiously from under the cot. He sighed and managed a weak grin. "Hey, girl," he said, sounding more tired than angry now. Just because he was frustrated at Diana, it did not mean that he had to take it out on his cat. "I'm home."

Four scrambled out, approaching the ghost boy cautiously. He could see, from his position, that her hair was on end. She, obviously, was not comfortable with the black magic that surrounded him and he felt guilty. He took another deep breath, in a futile attempt at calming himself down, as the cat sidled close to him, wrapping her small and limber body around his ankles.

With a faint groan, Jack lowered his torso, letting his hand reach for Four's back. It was a soothing sensation, stroking her fur and, though he continued to pant and feel weak, he did relax. "Thanks, Four."

"Meow."

"Yeah. I know I don't look too good. I feel horrible and, I mean, I know that I shouldn't have gotten so angry but I couldn't help it… It gets hard sometimes, girl. You know that."

"Meow."

Jack nodded his head slowly, straightening up. "Exactly." He let his fingers brush against the top of her head one more time before stepping over her and walking towards his bed. He was still winded and, as the image of Diana standing there, wearing that necklace and acting so… _innocent…_ flashed before his eyes, he felt the lingering effects of rash anger – and it disturbed him. He rarely let such anger take control of him and he was paying for it now. And there was only one thing he could do for it just then: have a good, long rest. Maybe then, when he had replenished his energy stores, he would be ready to accept the fourth generation girl's aid.

_Besides, there's still one month left until Delancey comes back looking for me,_ Jack mused as he gingerly took a seat on the old patchwork quilt. He was too tired to go intangible or use any of his powers so, rather than float, he took his time in stretching himself out across the flat mattress, closing his eyes as he made himself comfortable. It was much rougher than he remembered but the sense did not bother him. He had too much on his mind already.

_One month… _

With all that had happened over the course of the last few days, Jack had forgotten all about the Devil's latest offer. At first, he had been against it entirely – he would not sell out one girl for the sake of another when he would be lost in the shuffle. Then, after thinking it over, he had reconsidered slightly. Thinking that it might be the best move to accept the latest deal in an attempt to at least free _her _soul, he had at least given some thought to accepting the offer.

But now, as he sat on the bed, his mind remembering the way that Diana had stared at him, looking so damn familiar… he knew he could never do it, he could never willingly give up a life that he had no claim to. As crooked as he could be, he was no murderer – despite everyone's all-too-often claims that he had anything to do with _her_ murder.

_First Les, then Diana… I know that it's _my _fault that she died but… I didn't do it. Why can't they believe me? I gave up my dreams and my life for that girl. I would never hurt her… _

His thoughts were interrupted when Four, placing two paws on the edge of the cot, popped up beside him. "Meow…"

Jack opened his right eye warily. "What?" He did not appreciate being drawn out of his moping. It had been two whole days since the last time he allowed himself to feel so much pity and he felt he was overdue.

"Meow." There was a definitive sound to her high-pitched mewing. And, if he had been paying more attention to the cat than to the ceiling, he would have noticed that she was staring intently at his profile. But he was not and he missed the way that the animal shook her head at him.

But he did, as strange as it was, understand what Four was saying to him. He huffed and closed his eye. "Don't worry. I'm not giving up. And I'm not about to… how does that go? Cut off my nose to spite my face? I'm gonna go see Diana tomorrow… and, when she apologizes, then I'll get back to work. Alright?"

"Meow."

"Yeah, well, good night to you, too."

--

Jack's rest did not last as long as he would have liked it to. It seemed as if only mere minutes had passed before a loud, insistent voice broke up his repose.

"Jack! You listen to me, you stupid ghost."

Reluctantly, his brown eyes opened and he yawned. If there were any doubts in his mind as to who was calling out his name – as if there were that many people who knew that a ghost resided in a hidden lair beside a Commerce bank – the voice was immediately recognized: Diana Mason. He groaned. "What is she doing here?"

"We need to talk and I'm not about to holler through a brick wall." Despite her words, if Jack could make out what she was saying to him, she definitely _was _hollering through the wall. He shook his head as Diana added, "Do you hear me?"

"Nope," Jack replied, keeping his voice low. He did not want to risk her hearing him; he was enjoying the peace and quiet and was hoping that she would just go away.

"Ja—ack…"

He was tempted to lift his hands to his head and cover his ears, figuring that, if he did not hear her, then he did not have to answer her. Just the sound of her voice was enough to remind him why he was so very angry. Diana was his last tie to this realm, the last chance he had to defeat this Devil's curse for once and for all yet the girl did not truly understand the importance of her role. And that, more than anything – except for the continual reminders her very appearance caused him – was what kept him lying on his bed rather than going back and rejoining the girl.

She stopped her calls for a few seconds and Jack felt relieved. He was not ready to talk to her again. Not yet, at least. Even though he could feel the beginnings of a nagging guilt growing in the pit of his stomach, he chose not to reply to Diana's yells. His pride was getting in the way of his sense of morality.

But, of course, he knew that he had not gotten rid of her just yet. She had, after all, left Duane Street and found her way to his hideaway. From what he knew about her, Diana Mason was not the sort of person to give up so easily so, when she started to threaten him from the other side of the brick wall again, he was not all that surprised.

"Jack, I'm gonna give you to the count of three to come out or I'll… I'll…" Diana was still attempting to speak to him and, as he listened to her vague threats, he could just see the way she was glaring at him through the very thick brick wall. With that thought in mind, he was finally able to separate the fourth generation girl from both Rhiannon and _her_ – and he felt slightly foolish for his earlier tantrum. Of course, he did not accept any fault for that; he was still too tired to even think about the way he had handled himself back at the building.

"I'll do something you won't like. You hear that?"

_If only I didn't… The kid's got moxie, I'll give her that. _

As he listened to Diana finish her statement, he had the sense that, no matter how long he pretended that he could not hear her, Diana would continue to nag him until he spoke with her again. And, as his anger continued to subside, only to be replaced by some semblance of common sense, Jack knew that he would have to talk to Diana again – as he reminded himself, there was only _really _one month left before he had to go up against Oscar Delancey and his Master. He really could not afford to let his pride get in the way…

"Alright, alright… don't get your knickers in a twist," Jack huffed, muttering under his breath; while no longer panting – the little bit of rest he had had definitely helped – he was still very tired. And, to be honest, he was not too sure what such a line meant – he did not think that anyone wore knickers in these days but he Ariadne had said that to him once and he liked it – but he figured it worked, given the situation. He just knew that Diana would not leave him alone until after she had had her say. She was all riled up now and he had the feeling that he would never regain all the energy his tantrum had spent with her yelling at him through the wall. In fact, he was only partly surprised that her voice could carry through the Devil-made barrier; he had given up trying to figure out just how Diana figured into his curse days ago. It was only a short jump from wondering how Diana was involved to worrying what the Devil wanted with the girl.

And, besides, Jack knew he was going to face her again. He just wanted to make her wait a bit longer first.

Sighing to himself, he sat up and cast his eyes over the space of his hideaway. He did not see Four and assumed that either the cat had been frightened by the intrusion of Diana's yells or – more likely -- was taking her own nap underneath the cot. He shrugged, knowing that at least he would not step on the cat, and stood from the bed. He crossed the room in three strides, curious as to what Diana was doing so far from Duane Street.

With his ear pressed up against the inside brick wall, Jack listened to what Diana was ranting and raving about. Her voice had definitely lowered and there was a bit of a strain on his part. Shrugging, he assumed that the girl was still telling him to face her.

In a way, he was pretty impressed with her ingenuity. Once again he was struck with how different she was from the other Daite girls. Whenever he would huff off, so frustrated that he retreated back to his hideaway, the other girls had always let him be; they had been glad for a reprieve. Diana, though… this girl had _followed _him. That, if anything, was worth him calming down and inviting her back inside his space.

Removing his head from alongside the wall, he ran a callused hand over the smooth brick, stopping only when he had the sense that he knew exactly where Diana was standing on the other side. Using that ghostly perception, he pushed his hand through the wall. Jack chose not to waste his limited energy by exiting the nook entirely or going invisible; instead, he reached through the brick, stopping when his elbow had been swallowed up by the wall.

Jack did not wonder how it would appear to anyone who happened to see his hand passing through the brick. He knew that only Diana would be able to see him and, by now, she had to be used to such strange sights. And, even if she was not, he did not think that he cared all that much. He was still angry at her for the way she had teased him back at the building.

Making his hand tangible, he felt around for Diana's arm. He found it and quickly closed his long fingers around her flesh. There was a rush of faint power – it exerted more energy than he remembered from the last time he brought Diana into his hideaway but that could have been due to his weakened state – as the magic spread from him to her. As soon as he was sure that the spell had worked, he pulled.

He promptly released his hold of her arm once the magic had carried the girl through the hidden barrier. Turning his back on her while barely hiding a slight pout – he did not like it when anyone got the better of him – Jack said, "There. You happy now?"

"Hold up. What the _fuck _just happened?"

That was definitely not the answer he had been expecting and he stiffened, keeping his back to the wall. He had expected the girl to huff, to offer some sort of sarcastic retort… even a growl would have met his expectations. But such a profanity-laced statement? That was not the Diana Mason he had come to know.

Plus, the fact that the harsh voice belonged to a guy kind of threw him off, too.

_What the…? _

--

Diana heard the sound of a car pulling away from the curb and let out a small sigh of relief. She had been right in front of the Commerce entrance, hand extended, reaching for the door, when she heard the telltale noise of Patrick's cab rattling away. Without even looking behind her, she lowered her hand and turned to her left, followed by a quick right down the side street. Like she remembered Jack having done, that first time when he led her to the brick wall, off the left side of this bank, she glanced both ways. When she was sure that no one was watching her, she turned around, facing the brick.

"Jack," she hissed, aware that she was attempting to talk to a ghost who was, she hoped, hiding out in a space that really did not exist. If she had been thinking rationally – which she was not; the way Diana saw it, all rational thoughts had fled her head the moment she agreed to help Jack with his quest – she would have realized how useless this was. Instead, she rapped her knuckles against the coarse brick. "You listen to me, you stupid ghost. We need to talk and I'm not about to holler through a brick wall." She paused. "Do you hear me?"

Not surprisingly, there was no response. She sighed. "Ja—ack," she said, anger causing her voice to rise, though she struggled to hold onto her whisper. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that a blonde woman pushing a stroller had just emerged from around the corner. Quickly switching her pose from one of annoyance to one of mild indifference, placing her back against the brick rather than facing it, she smiled at the young mother. "Hi." She was tempted to whistle innocently but did not; she was sure that there was nothing that she could do that would make this scene less suspicious.

She was right. The woman's brown eyes widened but she did smile over at Diana. However, she did also push the stroller much quicker than she had been before she encountered the teenager. The toddle resting in the stroller waved cheekily, calling out a cheerful greeting as they passed but the mother just hushed her as she hurried along.

Diana kept the forced smile on her face until the woman had turned the next corner, leaving her alone on the side street. The smile then slid off of her face as she swiveled around, scowling at the very solid wall. She felt like a complete idiot and was ready to add that, too, to the ever growing list of things she was holding the ghost boy accountable for. "Jack, I'm gonna give you to the count of three to come out or I'll… I'll…" Not really having anything she could threaten the boy with, she finished her sentence lamely, "I'll do something you won't like. You hear that?"

Again, there was no response. She did not really know what she was expecting to happen but just the fact that – if Jack was really in there, which she assumed but did not know for sure – he was ignoring her was making her furious. She quelled the urge to beat up against the brick wall, instead curling her fists at her side. She was going to get him whenever she had the chance.

"Hey, Diana? You okay?"

So preoccupied with yelling for Jack, and planning revenge for his juvenile behavior, the girl did not notice that another person had joined her on that side street. But this time is was not a nervous young mother with her child who hurried along on their way. It was someone who felt the need to sneak up right alongside her and, in a most unsettling way, place their hand on her shoulder.

She jumped, relaxing her hands, as her stomach seemed to plummeted down into her sneakers and her heart began to beat double time. There was no doubt about it. She knew that voice – and it did not belong to Jack. And, of course, Jack's cold touch was nowhere as warm as this boy's…

Slowly, she turned around, that same forced smile back on her face. Diana swallowed hurriedly as she felt her cheeks heat up again. There, standing right behind her with one heck of a confused expression on his handsome face, was Patrick Conlon.

_Oh, damn… _

--

Patrick was waiting, making sure that the girl got inside of the bank safely. Of course, he would never tell her this, but he was also enjoying the sight of her walking away. He nodded confidently, proud of the way that he had handled himself with Diana. She was a bit younger than the girls he normally chased – he was praying that she was at least eighteen, though – but there was just something about her that caught her attention. And he had not been lying, either. Even though he had only been a cab driver for a few months, he had never jeopardized his job for a girl before. His friends, sure, but never a chick.

It was strange, though. He idled the cab as Diana approached the bank but she did not enter it. It was almost as if _she_ was waiting for something herself. Her head was cocked slightly to the side and her back was arched; she was listening for something.

Patrick leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes on her. He could not put his finger on it but he could not help but be drawn to her. He had noticed it the second time she had chanced upon his cab and, before he had even thought it over, he had offered her his phone number. He had not been all too sure that she would ever call but it definitely had been a pleasant surprise when he heard her voice earlier that afternoon. Even if she had only called him to ask for a ride… it was a start, at least.

It had been quite amusing to see that, after Diana had accepted his offer that she sit beside him rather than behind him, she had no idea where she was going. It worked in his favor, really – without having a true destination in mind, the pair of them spent longer together in the small cab.

The ride had been over before he knew it. Whether or not this really was the bank that Diana needed to go to, this was where she exited the taxi. He was glad that he had not pulled away yet, though. With the girl still standing before the bank, frozen at the entrance, he was beginning to think that this was _not _the one she needed to be dropped off at.

Feeling like it would definitely be a point in his favor if he popped up to offer her more help just when she needed it, Patrick decided to park the taxi and ask the girl if she was alright. Smirking to himself as he made sure to turn the engine off and palmed the ignition key, Patrick opened his door and slid out of the cab – just as another car came speeding down the street.

"Hey, watch it," he muttered under his breath as he barely missed being run over by a fellow cab driver. He raised his hands in annoyance, momentarily glaring at the back of the taxi before sighing in annoyance and walking around the front of his parked cab. He climbed onto the sidewalk, glancing forward. But, when he looked over at the Commerce's entrance, he saw that Diana was gone. Swiveling his head to the left, he caught sight of Diana vanishing down the side street.

Pausing, Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. His curiosity was most definitely piqued just then and, the way he saw it, he had two options: he could get back into his cab and finish out his shift or he could follow Diana and figure out what she was up to.

That decision was a simple one. An interested expression on his face, he began to head down the block. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would learn what it was that made him drawn to the girl. Or, perhaps, he could get her to agree definitely to a real date. It got lonely chauffeuring people about all day long.

Patrick nodded at a young woman pushing a baby carriage emerged from the side street. She looked vaguely nervous and, when she confronted him, just about to turn, she let out a small _eep_ and steered her stroller around him before hurrying off down the block.

"Okay…" Shrugging, Patrick chose not to marvel at how some locals were even stranger than tourists. Instead, he remembered what he was doing and quickly turned down the corner – just in time to see Diana glaring furiously at the brick wall that was right in front of her. Her face was red and her hands were clenched at her side.

Patrick was confused – well, even more confused. He had been a little confused when he watched as Diana made to enter the bank only to forsake the door in favor of continuing down the block and turning down the side street. He had been a bit more confused when the blonde woman gave him a frightened look before avoiding him and hurrying away. But to witness Diana standing there, facing off against a wall? With no one else in sight?

_Oh, lordy. With my luck, the reason I think she's so appealing ain't because I think she's cute. It's because she's nuts. Great… _

Taking delicate (and purposely quiet, so as not to frighten her now) steps towards the girl, he waited for her to notice his approach. When she did not, he walked right behind her. "Hey, Diana? You okay?" Patrick tried to sound concerned and, in a gesture of compassion, he reached forward, letting his hand settle gently on her shoulder.

She jumped, more startled at the touch than the intrusion of his voice, as she turned her head to meet his gaze. "Patrick," she gasped, the color already staining his cheeks, "I didn't even see you there. What are you doing?"

"I was just checking up on you. What are _you _doing?" His eyebrow arched and he nodded at the brick wall. She was not sure how long he had been standing there, or how much he had heard her say to, well, no one, but she was aware how strange she looked.

_Quick… what's a perfectly good reason for a girl to be yelling at a wall when she said she was going into a bank? _

_Uh… _

But, before she could even come up with a lame excuse, something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention: there was a phantom hand reaching through the wall. Jack, finally giving in to Diana's nagging, wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her into his nook. And Patrick, whose hand was still resting on her shoulder, went along for the ride.

She was entirely thrown off guard by the sudden jerk. There was barely enough time for her to register that Jack had touched her – she felt chills and shivered once – before she found herself, once again, in Jack's secret hiding place. It was just as she remembered it, what with the piles and piles of photographs that she had hoped never to see again.

And there, with his back turned stubbornly in her direction, stood Jack. His head was held high, though she could hear that he was, for some reason, wheezing, as he said sullenly, "There. You happy now?"

Diana did not have the chance to answer. Before she had even tried to squeak out any response, someone else spoke.

"Hold up. What the _fuck _just happened?"

She froze, Jack Kelly momentarily forgotten. Her mind was whirring with only one understanding: _Patrick… Patrick is here, too… How? _

And that's when she realized that his hand was still resting lightly on top of her shoulder.


	53. LIII

Author's Note: _I am so sorry about the huge gap between chapters. I really do mean to have a chapter each week but things have gotten really crazy around here. Not to mention, my internet has been wonky for quite a bit of time. I'm pretty sure that I got most of the bugs fixed (except for Word randomly freezing and not wanting to re-open – hence another reason this chapter took _forever_). Anywho, this was probably the _hardest _chapter I had to write (and, yes, that is out of all 53 chapters so far!) – but only because it has three characters, and only one of them can communicate with the other two at the same time. Plus… so… much…dialogue. Bah. Here's to hoping it's passable! Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

June 3, 2007

_A Devil's curse._ _An unsolved murder._ _4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was._

--

PART FIFTY THREE

--

Diana slowly, as if she did not want to but knew she had to, turned her head to her right. She could see Patrick, his hand still hanging lightly onto her shoulder, as he stared in awe around him before finally turning his gaze back on her. His cyan eyes were very wide; his jaw had gone slightly slack. As she met those staring eyes, those _accusing _eyes, his hold tightened. She could feel the edge of his bitten nails as soft fingertips pressed into her skin. She tried not to wince.

Not sure how to respond to Patrick's question, she just froze. According to Jack, the only person who could see or hear him was her – she had no idea if that fact extended to everything associated with the ghost boy, such as this hidden room. _What does he see, _she wondered, nervously chewing on her bottom lip._ Can he see anything at all?_

She hesitated, having no idea how she was going to explain any of this to him. Any thoughts of heading out to dinner with him later that evening flew out of her head. She knew she would be lucky if he did not have her committed, let alone ever want to see her again.

But the silence – and his piercing stare – quickly became too much for her. Diana knew she had to say _something_… it was just a matter of _what_: should she tell the truth and risk sounding like a lunatic or make up some random excuse in order to convince Patrick that she was as lost as he was? She did not know and hoped that she could decide before Patrick did anything more than demand answers that she was not prepared to give.

"Uh, Patrick? I can explain…" she lied as she took a step away from him, ducking out from underneath his touch. Whether he was frightened – she doubted that – or just really curious about where they were and how they had gotten there, he had still found a way to keep in contact with her. In any other circumstance, Diana would have been flustered at his proximity but, right now, she had other things on her mind… like coming up with a way to explain just how the two of them had walked through a brick wall. _I wonder if he would buy it if I told him that this is all a dream_, she thought humorlessly to herself as she attempted a weak grin in his direction.

Patrick's eyebrow had risen so high that it was nearly indiscernible from the rest of his sandy mop of hair. He casually took his hand back, playing it off like it did not bother him that she had moved out of reach, before slipping it into the front pocket of his khaki pants. "Really? Okay, great. I'm listening."

"Well…" she started, intentionally imitating Samantha Stevens' way of approaching a supernaturally-caused, hard-to-explain situation; she figured, given the situation, it definitely fit, "you see… I _can _explain but it's… it's kinda weird… I mean…" Diana stopped in her rambling long enough to rub at her eyes. She could feel the heat of Patrick's intense – if definitely confused – expression as she struggled to come up with a plausible explanation. The truth was quickly becoming an appetizing option. "Um… how about this? Do me a favor and, uh, look around you, okay? What do you see?"

Though he looked a bit wary – and still confused – Patrick obliged her by purposely opening his cyan eyes even wider and glancing around the small room, all the while shaking his head almost unnoticeably. He may or may not have been mumbling something like, "I knew she was too good to be true…fucking _cuh_-razy…" as he did so, but, at least, he had lowered his voice considerably; Diana purposely chose not to hear his mutterings.

And, besides, if he _had_ been saying such things, it really did not matter to the girl. There was another reason why she did not hear him – something else had caught her attention: Jack had finally turned around, facing his guests… one of who was quite unexpected, seeing as he had no idea who the other boy was.

Now, as Patrick continued to look over the room, the ghost boy was, in turn, watching the young cabbie curiously. Jack's head was cocked to his right and his brown eyes were narrowed. "Hey, kid," he said, addressing Diana, though his gaze never left Patrick's profile, "who's your pal?"

_Crap… this is so _not _what I need… _Somehow, in the aftermath of the realization that Patrick had followed her into Jack's room, Diana had forgotten all about him. Although she knew that she would appear as if she was speaking to no one when she answered him, she also knew she could not ignore Jack. And it was definitely too much to hope that Patrick would be able to hear him…

She sighed. "Not now, Jack. Why don't you go sit on your little cot or something? I'll explain this whole thing to you in a sec," she promised, cringing inwardly. She had arrived at this place with the intent to make him pay for the way he had treated her earlier but, instead, she was trying her best to placate him. _All because of Patrick, _she realized, as she snuck a glance over at the cab driver. _I really do like this boy and all but I highly doubt I even have a chance with him now… he must think I'm freaking nuts… Wonderful._

Patrick stopped humoring Diana. Rather than continue looking around the small – and, to him, empty of any other people but him and Diana – room, he met her eye. "And who's Jack?"

She gulped. That's what she had been afraid of. "I take it that means that you don't see the other boy that's in the room with us?" she asked weakly.

There went that eyebrow again. It only had enough time to arch sharply before Patrick's voice lifted and he began to rant. Once again, his voice was much louder than it should be; Diana could not help but wonder if some other hapless passerby-er could hear his hollers through the wall. "What do you mean, the other fucking boy in this room? No, I don't see no other boy in this room, but I'll tell you what I _do _see!" With a finger pointed, he began to jab sharply at the air in the room, gesturing at the various things he was able to view. "Over here, there's a shit load of papers and pictures. Can we say fucking fire hazard? Yeah… Oh, and here… a bed. How cute. I mean, what strange ass room doesn't need some sort of bed?"

He lowered his hand, shook his head and backed up against the brick wall. Using his backside, he tried to push back through – as if that would work. When it did not, he slapped the brick with an open palm. "No fucking windows, no fucking door. I'm stuck here and I don't know how I even _got _here! And," he added, his handsome face twisted as he shouted, "now you ask me about some other fucking boy. You've lost it, Diana, and now I'm fucking lost, too!"

By the time he had finished his ranting, his face was redder rather than tan, and he was breathing heavily But he also looked relieved. Quite obviously, Patrick Conlon did not handle strange situations in a very calm manner.

Diana did not know what to say. She was disappointed that Patrick had just yelled at her, and hurt that he believed she was crazy. It was bad enough that, even after six days, she still wondered the same thing, but, to have this boy state it so simply? However, just like she had not been about to let Jack get away with speaking to her like that, she was also growing very angry – who had asked him to follow her down that side street and into Jack's hideaway in the first place? "Listen, Patrick, I don't know wh—"

Her heated response was cut off when something smacked Patrick dead in the face. He had not been expecting it – his attention had been on Diana; he had swapped his expression of frustration for a devilish smirk when she had started to fight back – and, therefore, he had not had any time to protect himself.

There was a slight chuckle that came from behind Diana. Jack was laughing to himself. "Kid deserved it, eh?" He seemed proud of what he had just done. "No one makes out any of the Daite girls to be a nutter when I'm around."

"What the fuck?" Patrick, with his hand rubbing his nose, bent down to retrieve the object that, as far as he knew, had flown across the room at him all by itself. "Where did this… _pillow _come from?" As soon as he realized that he had been hit with a pillow – a simple heart-shaped pillow – Patrick lowered his hand. It made him look ridiculous, massaging his face when he had only been struck by a soft pillow.

That slap in the face was enough to bring the cab driver back around, she noticed, and Diana, for one, was glad –she now had a hard time keeping herself from laughing. Between Jack's pride and Patrick's look of utter shock at being struck by a flying object, it was quite humorous.

Holding the pillow in his hand, he straightened, staring at the thing, ignoring the muffled snorts that were coming from Diana. It was old and lumpy, but definitely soft. He assumed that it had once been white but now was a faint yellow; a somewhat brittle lacey edge surrounded the pillow and, in the center, there were two red letters: an F and an S. He peered over at Diana. "Did you throw this at me?"

"Who? Me?" Diana removed her hands from their place, covering her mouth, before holding them up in an attempt to declare her innocence. "Uh-uh. No way. That was Jack."

Patrick glanced back down at this pillow, that thin eyebrow of his still arched sharply. She half-expected him to start yelling again but, surprisingly, he did not. When he spoke again, he sounded curious but in a vaguer kind of way. "Yeah, and who's Jack?" There was a hint of humor to his voice and she could almost hear his mind whispering, "Crazy… _cuh_-razy…"

Still, it was hard for Diana to tell just where his attention was focused – on her or on the pillow – so she tried her best to answer. Considering he had just witnessed the pillow flying across the room, she decided it was time to tell the truth. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He already thought she was insane. And, at least, she would feel better about herself for being honest. "You see… Jack is a… well… _friend _of mine who just so _happens_ to be dea—"

"Do you really want to do that, Diana?"

She paused mid-sentence before glancing over at Jack. His lips were pursed, his laughter had stopped. The ghost boy had his brown eyes narrowed on her, daring her to reply. She sighed again. Of course he would have to make this even more difficult. "Do what, Jack? Tell him about you?"

Jack nodded. "He won't understand, Diana. They never do."

"He might."

"'He might' what? Who are you talking to?" Patrick tore his eyes away from the object he was still handling, turning his attention back on the girl. The way he saw it, she was standing next to the strange cot, talking to a patch of air. _And I thought my pal, Woody, was weird… _"You keep mentioning this Jack person but who is he? A figment of your imagination?" He lifted the pillow up into the air and shook it at her. "One that can fling something like this at my head?" He lowered his hand and stuck one of his boot-coved feet out. "Yeah, pull the other one while you're at it."

She did not even need to see Jack's face to know that he was wearing a triumphant smirk. Diana could tell it from the way he said, "See, kid. Told you so. But," he added when Diana's shoulders slumped in defeat, "I could prove it to him, if you'd like."

The girl perked up. If she had someone else to confide in that was an outsider, perhaps this whole thing would not be as distressing as it already was. Besides, it would definitely be a bonus to spend further time with Patrick… "Could you really, Jack? I thought no one could see you but me."

"No one _can_ see me but you… and Kloppy, too… but hey, that don't mean that I can't make him believe in me. What do you say?"

Her face split into a grin. This was more than a matter of proving to Patrick that she was sane, that she had not been inventing this all – if Jack could make Patrick believe that he, a ghost, existed, then she could prove her sanity to herself while she was at it. "Okay, Jack. Go ahead. Show him."

Patrick, who had been watching a one-sided exchange, did not like the way she said that. "Wait a sec. What do you mean, 'show him'? Diana, you know, I'm cool with your… friend or whatever. I was just kidding about you being cra—aaahhhh!"

With the clap of his hands and a rather wicked smile Jack had lifted Patrick up into the air. The rise was slow at first, and he did not stall Patrick's ascent until his head was pressed up against the ceiling; Patrick had to bend his head, facing downward, so as not to repeatedly hit his crown. It was, by and far, an uncomfortable position but there was no doubt about it: Patrick knew that something was up now.

As soon as he had done that, Jack snapped his fingers, joining Patrick in the air. He hovered right next to the obviously frightened boy before blowing on his face. "Do you believe in ghosts now, punk?"

Diana was not sure if Patrick could feel the pressure of Jack's exhale – and she knew he could not hear Jack's ridiculous taunts – but, by the face he made, she was positive that he could smell that strange scent of death that lingered on Jack's tongue. "Jack, I think that's enough."

"Yes, yes, it's enough." Patrick offered, closing his eyes and wrinkling his nose. "Let me down, damn it!"

But Jack was not done. His eyes began that strange whirring that Diana had noticed before when he had been preparing to exit her room; flecks of silver and specks of red dotted his eyes, though she did see that he did not have the strength to completely overlay the warm chocolate-brown color that she knew.

However, there _was_ sufficient power to use on Patrick. As soon as Jack's eyes began to gloss over, Patrick began to spin in the air. Looking like a lop-sided top, he spun around and around; while nowhere near as quick as Jack's makeshift tornado, Patrick was going quick enough that his discomfort was evident.

Diana stood up on her tippy-toes and grabbed at the cuff of Jack's pant. "Stop, Jack," she whispered, hoping she could get through to him. The last thing she needed now was for him to lose it again like he had back at the penthouse.

"Seriously, that's enough," Patrick shouted, holding his hands out. "Call off your Casper. I believe you. I do!"

He let out a low whistle when the spinning finally stopped. "A real ghost, shit," he said, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "That's gotta be worth something…" His voice trailed to a close when he looked down and saw the incredulous way Diana was glaring at him. Quickly, before the ghost could do anything else to him, he amended his statement to say, "I mean, if I told someone about him. Which I won't." _Phew…_

She pulled on Jack's pant leg again. His eyes cleared as he looked down upon her; his pout told Diana that this was probably the most fun he had had in decades and he was loath to stop. _But he's got to…_ "Okay, Jack. I think we can trust him. Besides," she said, watching as Jack grudgingly lowered Patrick to the floor of the room, "who'd believe him, anyways?"

Patrick shook and with a not-so-mumbled, "I fucking hate heights," he reached for the pillow it had dropped. He held it before him as if it were a shield.

He was silent for a few minutes, trying to regain the cool he had lost when he had been lifted up, before casually asking, "So, yeah, now that I know there's a ghost keeping us in here… what do I do?"

_Good question… _"It's up to you, really, Patrick. If you want to know more, I can fill you in. If you want to get out of here and never speak to me again… I understand." _There. It's up to him. _She offered a sad smile but she said no more. All of a sudden, she was beginning to feel that same queasiness that she knew right before she collapsed on her aunt's couch on Friday. Her head was spinning and she wondered what could have brought it on. "Ugh."

Shaking her head – and not necessarily waiting for Patrick's response – she took a few steps forward, one hand stretched out in front of her, the other rested against her forehead. It was a sudden onslaught of that same nausea and she did not want to land on Jack's various piles of history if she stumbled again.

"Diana, are you okay?" Patrick watched as she turned her back on him. She gingerly took a seat on the cot before looking up at him. Her face had paled considerably; in mere seconds, she had gone from laughing to looking like she was about to die. "You don't look so hot."

Jack's eyes were narrowed again. Even thought he was still hovering in the air, he recognized the face that the girl was making; it reminded him of the way she appeared right after waking up from terribly vexing visions. Something was not right. "Yeah, kid. Why don't you take it easy?"

"Sure…" she mumbled as she turned around and sat gently down on the cot. It was the most she could get out and even that had been too much – her headache tripled and her stomach heaved. _What is going on here?_

While Patrick stood on the opposite side of the small room, still clutching that worn pillow, Jack floated over to the cot. He remained a few feet into the air, making sure to give Diana enough room. "What's wrong, Diana?"

Whether it was the delicate way Jack asked her or the moan that she let out as a response, it was enough to garner Four's attention. Her fuzzy brown head emerged out from under the bed, her pink nose sniffling curiously as she climbed out. Her piercing cats' eyes ran over Patrick before deeming him unimportant enough of a tentative rub. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at the girl on the cot.

"Meow."

In one quick movement, the cat had turned around and accurately leapt onto the center of the strewn quilt. Diana did not even flinch; she was feeling too poorly to be frightened of the cat or even nervous that any contact could invoke a vision. Right then, all she cared about was finding a bucket, should she need one. And she was pretty sure she was going to need one.

"Meow," Four said again as she bustled up as close to Diana as was possible. She rubbed against the girl's thigh once before folding her legs under her and resting her furry chin on Diana's knee.

For some reason, Four's touch did not send her back to the diner where she had met Honor Williams – but it did make her feel a bit better. At the very least, her head did not feel so hazy and the urge to vomit had subsides somewhat.

"Diana," Patrick began hesitantly, "you okay?" He knew he was asking the same question again but it was either that or start trying to figure out where the hell that cat had come from. He figured it was safer to sound like a parrot than risk her ghost friend throwing him back up in the air again.

This time, she managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry. I just… yeah, I'm fine. But that was definitely weird. I thought I was gonna puke for a second there." With a slightly shaking hand, Diana reached out and stroked Four's bushy tail. At that moment she did not care if the contact sent her spiraling into the past or not. The gentle purring of the cat was – at least, she assumed so – ridding her of the nausea pains. "I'm good now, though."

"Good."

"Good."

For the first time since she got thrown in between the two of them, Jack and Patrick found something that they agreed on. She wondered if she should comment on that before ultimately decided that it would do no good. She settled on scratching behind Four's ear.

It was quiet for a few minutes after that, save for Four's rather noticeable purr. Jack had remained in the air, his legs crossed as he hovered over the cot. Diana was absently petting the cat while Patrick… Patrick just stood there, looking at the pillow again.

"You know," he began, rather thoughtfully. Patrick was holding the pillow gingerly, staring at the backside of thing rather than the front. Instead of the ornately embroidered F.S. that was in the center, he was gazing curiously at the base of the lumpy pillow. He pointed at it. "This is kind of weird, now that I think of it…" His voice was much more pleasant and his shoulders were relaxed; he was trying to be at ease while, at the same time, silently apologize for treating Diana like a nutcase.

Diana appreciated his efforts so, despite Jack's fingers reaching for her shoulder in order to keep her sitting down, she got up and walked over to Patrick. They were shaky steps at first but, by the time she was leaning over to look at the pillow, she was feeling like herself again. It also did not go by unnoticed that Patrick had not asked to be let out of the room yet – it was as if he had ignored her earlier offer. "What's weird?"

Jack did not like being left out of the conversation. To him, it did not matter that this other boy could not see him – Diana could, and that was all that mattered. And, besides, whoever asked him to tag along, anyway?

"Hey, Diana? You tell him I want my pillow back. He's gettin' it all grubby."

She ignored him. There was a hint of jealousy to his voice that she did not want to deal with right then. What was more important was Patrick's fixation with the pillow. It was something she recognized and, even though she was wondering how it had gone from being in one of her visions to being in Jack's nook, she wanted to know why Patrick kept looking at it like that. "What's weird, Patrick?"

The cab driver pointed at something at the bottom. "Look. S.J., done all fancy like those other letters on the front, only smaller." He jabbed at two tiny, embroidered letters. They were done in a grey thread, almost as if the person who had placed them there was signing their piece of work. "It's gotta be a coincidence and all, but my dad has one of these. It was his baby pillow. His grandma made it for him when he was born – it's got the same small S.J. on the back and everything."

The way that Diana saw it, ever since meeting Jack, there were no such things as coincidences. Her stomach, still recovering from that strange feeling before, dropped. Quickly, she tried to think back to the vision when she had seen this pillow. _Now, where did that Kloppman say this damn pillow came from? _

It was no good. The only thing she remembered was that it belonged on a bunk – _Jack's bunk… someone placed it there and they kept it there even after he died. But who was it?_

Meanwhile, Jack had crossed his hands over his chest. "How does he have one like that? Mine was a gift… the person who made it died almost fifty years ago." He squinted as he, from his place hovering above the cot, looked over Patrick. "Who _is_ this kid, Diana?"

Waving her hand behind her back to hush him up, Diana asked, "Where did your dad get one of these from?" When Patrick lifted his head to meet her eyes, she shrugged. "Jack wants to know. That's his pillow, you see." She almost added that she wanted to know, too, but figured things were already too strange as they were. She was, after all, lucky that Patrick had not gone running yet. He actually, despite being tossed about like a rag doll, seemed interested in staying behind with her.

Especially now that this simple pillow had caught his attention. Running a long, thin finger over the embroidery, he said, "S.J.… from what my dad said, S.J. were his grandmother's initials. Sarah was her first name, Jacobs was her maiden name. She had quite the gift with a needle and thread and always signed her work with those initials." Patrick let out a short laugh as he handed the pillow over to Diana. "I wonder how your ghost friend got one of these… I mean, you said his name was Jack, right?" Diana nodded. "Who is this F.S. dude, then?"

Diana had no idea but, when she turned around to ask Jack, the only answer she got was an outstretched hand. Wordlessly, she handed the pillow over to Jack. He accepted it and placed it delicately at the head of his small cot. Once it was out of Patrick's reach, Jack pointed at the young man. "This… _boy_ is related to Sarah? My Sarah?" He jerked up his chin, looking at Patrick down the side of his nose. "What's his name?"

She did not like the way he said that but the manner with which he asked that question told her that she could not decline to answer it. "Conlon, Jack. That's Patrick Conlon."

As she said his surname, something clicked inside of her. _Conlon… just like Spot Conlon… Spot Conlon, the man that married Sarah Jacobs… S.J.… Les Jacobs' sister… Les Jacobs, my great-grandfather… Oh, man! That means that I've been crushing on a guy who's, like, my second cousin twice-removed or something. _She grimaced. _And I thought this day couldn't get any better…_

Jack nodded. "I should have known. I've only ever seen one guy with a set of eyes like that," he said, jerking his head in Patrick's direction. "This runt and Spot Conlon, his self. More relatives, I guess. Just perfect."

Patrick, entirely oblivious of what had just transpired between Jack and Diana, leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder. Surprisingly – or not so surprisingly, since Diana was still trying to work out how distantly related they were and if it was okay to still find him attractive – the touch did not but startle her out of her thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Psst…" he whispered, feeling a bit silly for keeping his voice down so as not to offend a ghost, "is there a reason why your ghost friend is asking my name?"

She very quickly shook her head. There were some things that he was better off not knowing. "Not really, Patrick. He, uh, he knew your great-grandparents. He was a friend of Sarah Jacobs and her husband." She gestured at the pillow. "I'm not too sure why it says F.S. on it but your great-grandmother made Jack that as a present."

"Oh." Patrick looked thoughtful before, "Yeah. I was right. This is so fucking weird. Pretty damn cool but definitely fucking weird."

Diana was inclined to agree just then. However, just as she was about to turn around and ask Jack who exactly that F.S. person was – if only because her curiosity, now, was getting to an intolerable level – she felt the brush of Four's soft fur against her.

But that was not all… as soon as the cat made contact with her again, she heard that same, strange hissing voice:

_Asssk__ the Massster…_

She froze, unsure if she really heard that or if it was a lingering effect from her dream. Either way, the cat was still rubbing up against her ankle. She lowered herself to pet Four's head – she did not know how she knew but she knew that was what the cat was after – and made a puzzled sound when she saw that Four's front paw was covering one particularly dusty photograph. One corner of the picture was still tucked under the edge of the bed, as if Four had pushed it out from its hiding place.

The image, while hard to see at her half-bent-over angle, was also partially hidden by Four's furry toes but, when the cat saw that Diana was looking at it, she mewed. As possible as it was to tell that a cat was grinning, Diana could and she knew that Four was, for some reason, extremely happy. With a respectful bow of her head, the cat removed her paw from the photograph and stepped away from it. "Meow."

"Okay, okay," Diana said under her breath, mildly aware that she was taking cues from a cat. She lowered herself even more, bending her knees, as she picked up the photograph.

Both Patrick and Jack were watching her with an interested eye – Jack because he was curious as to what Four was showing Diana, Patrick because he was still trying his best to understand what the hell was going on.

"What you got there?"

Diana was not sure which of the two boys asked the question but she was intent on finding out the answer for herself. She brought it up to her face and blew on it, trying to get rid of the dust. She did send a small cloud of it floating upwards but it was not enough to reveal the entire image to her.

Using her thumb, Diana wiped away gingerly at the dust coating. From a quick glance, she could see that there were two – _no, three _– people in the photograph. As the dust fell away, she was able to make out the faces.

"Hey, look. It's a picture of you, Jack. Oh, and your Stress, too. And someone else… Here, let me get that…" she said, using her thumbnail to wipe at the last bit of dirt that was blocking the third face from view. "It's, uh… oh, wow. That's… that's—"

And that was all Diana was able to get out before her body stiffened, her eyes widened and the picture fluttered from her hand.

--

End Note: _Just in case it is not _entirely _obvious… Patrick is not Spot Conlon. Just like Diana, he is the fourth generation in the family that began with Sarah and Spot. I kept wanting to make it clear when you guys mentioned that they were the same in your (awesome, mind you) reviews but I figured I'd be better waiting until this scene. Hopefully it works and you guys aren't _too _mad at this cliffhanger :) Anywho, let me know what you think. Next chapter will be a doozy!_


	54. LIV

Author's Note: _I'm not going to say much here because I'm sure you're all anxious to get to this chapter and, as it is, it is almost 7k words itself. But I did want to say one thing: in the story, the date is June 8th, 1999. I found it fitting that this chapter be posted today, seeing as today is June 8th, too. You guys and Diana get to learn together (just seven years apart, heh). I hope you guys enjoy and, if you would, let me know what you think. I've been waiting for this moment for quite some time (as I'm sure you guys have been, too!). Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

June 8, 2007

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

--

PART FIFTY FOUR

--

Patrick Conlon could not believe what he was seeing. The girl, after doing nothing but pick up a photograph and look at it, had turned into some sort of statue. She was still standing, her green eyes were still open and her mouth was wide but she was frozen – unresponsive and unseeing. He resisted the urge to wave his hand before her eyes. He had the feeling it would not do much. "Diana? What the fuck?" He reached a hand for her but, before he had made contact, pulled his hand back. He was not sure if she was contagious or not and, if she was, he did not want it.

Trying to pretend that he was not voicing a question that, as far as his common sense told him, no one could answer, Patrick lifted his head up loftily. He did not have any clue as to where this Jack ghost was but, he figured, it would be better to glance upward than to look at the floor. He pointed at Diana's still form. "So, is this normal? I mean, her freaking out like that? She ain't dead or some shit, right? Because I don't know how to deal with dead people." Then, as if he realized what he had said – and who (what) he had said it to – Patrick held up his hands and shrugged. "No offense, buddy."

Unsurprisingly, there was no verbal response. Well, there was, but he could not hear it. Which, of course, was a good thing.

"Spot Conlon must be rollin' over in his grave to know that this louse is his family," Jack muttered as he lowered himself to the floor of the small room. He could not understand what he was doing there, or what he was doing with Diana. But, right then, it did not matter. His first priority was, as always, taking care of the Daite girl. This Conlon character could, as far as Jack was concerned, wait.

With Patrick staring at Diana as if she was going to fall and shatter into a million pieces, Jack looked her over. Once again, Diana had fallen into a vision – but therein laid the problem. She had not exactly fallen anywhere. She was still on her feet, unmoving. And it was very unnerving.

Taking great care not to upset her while in that state, Jack tried to use his ghost powers to move her from her place in the center of the room over to the bed. However, while he was no longer panting, he was still drained of his energy. The fantastical exit from the building, coupled with showing off for Spot Conlon's descendent, had totally wiped him out.

But he still wanted her to be comfortable. And, since a supernatural transport was out of the question, he decided to move her physically. He placed one hand on the back of her thighs while wrapping the other around her torso and tilting her back into his arms. She was much lighter than he had thought she would be.

He shifted her so that his grip was secure before looking down into her face. There was a small pang that hit him just then; she really did resemble, in a hard-to-explain way, Stress. It was eerie so, with some of the last power he had left, he blinked. Diana's eyelids shut.

Patrick's large cyan eyes widened considerably when Diana – still statue-like, though he noticed that her eyes were now closed – began to float. He assumed that it was her friend, the ghost, back at work. "So, yeah, I guess you got this," he said, backing away as Diana was lifted into the air. "I'll… I'll be over here if you need me."

Jack just rolled his eyes as he maneuvered Diana over to the cot. "Conlon, my ass. If that was Spot he would have threatened to soak whoever it was that was messin' with a dame." He snorted, wishing, not for the first time, that he could talk to someone that was not involved in the curse. It would be interesting to tell this twenty-first century version of a Conlon just how great a great-grandfather he had. As it was, as soon as Diana was awake again, he knew he would have a few choice words for her on how to pick a friend.

Unsettled by the continued quiet, Patrick nodded to himself, smiling a half-smile that showed just how weird he thought this whole thing was. This was going far beyond "fucking weird". It was, in his opinion, quickly approaching "I think I need an MRI or something because I'm seeing shit." _Okay… now what?_

On the one hand, this could be the perfect chance to escape. Diana was out cold and, judging by the way she was seemingly moving on her own, the ghost – _I still can't get used to the idea that I'm hanging with a fucking dead guy! _–was occupied. But, then again, he knew he could not, in good conscience, leave the girl alone in such a strange situation. The fact that he had no idea how to leave this exitless room, and that the only (living) person who did know had just passed out, kind of helped, too.

So, the way he saw it, he could either take off and pretend that none of this had ever happened or he could hang around and get this girl to tell him what was going on. It was one thing to be expected to believe that she knew a ghost – and, considering the little spin he had just had, he believed it – but it was another entirely to believe in a ghost without knowing anything else. Like how she had gotten involved with a ghost and, perhaps, what her last name was.

Patrick shrugged to himself as he folded his legs under him and, careful not to knock over any of the random piles of papers and photographs, took a seat on the floor. If curiosity killed the cat, it was about to cost a New York City cab driver his job.

Once settled, he looked over at the cot. That strange, yet familiar, pillow was lying at the head of the bed. As he watched, an invisible somebody lowered Diana down so that her head was resting gently on it.

It was a really weird sight and Patrick could not help but shake his head. _Who would have thought that, when I picked up that girl in my cab, that she'd be so damn freaky. It's a good thing she's cute, _he added silently. He was the first person to admit that he was shallow – a pretty face sure went a long way with helping Patrick come to terms with ghosts and the like.

"So," he called out, in an attempt to make idle conversation. If there was another thing that could be said about Patrick Conlon, he was not a fan of silence, "I take it that she's gonna be okay. But, is there a time limit to this kind of thing? Cause I, you know, I got shit to do. Not to mention a job I got to get back to." Not that he really cared all that much about his job, of course. He was just wondering.

Jack just shook his head. He was standing over Diana, making sure that she was covered with the quilt. She was nowhere near as hot as she had been the last time the demon had bothered her during a vision and he wanted to keep her comfortable. But, just because she was not warm, it did not mean that Oscar was not harassing her again – he would not put it past the demon to attempt to claim her again. _Here, let me just lift her eyelids and check to see if her eyes are red again…_

Again, there was no response – not even further purring from that odd cat – but Patrick had not really expecting one at all. He scratched his head absently and took a second look around the room. As he had noted before, there were piles and piles of papers – photographs, letters, newspaper clippings, etc. – and he had to work to fight back a sneeze from all of the dust that was all over.

None of what surrounded him caught his attention, though. That is, not until he spied a black, leather-bound book that was perched atop one of the nearer piles.

_Hmm… what's this?_

Not feeling the least bit guilty, he reached for it. _Oh, shit. I bet this is that dead guy's little black book. How funny is that?_ _Nice…_ He stifled a snicker as he cracked the book open. Now this was something that could keep him entertained while he waited for Diana to wake back up from her trance.

And Jack, who was busy having a silent fit over the way Diana's eyes had gone from the familiar green color to an even more familiar golden shade, never even noticed.

--

_Whether she was growing accustomed to her consciousness's relocation during a vision or not, Diana knew, at once, that she was gone from Jack's room. She also, from finding herself in this exact location for a second time, knew exactly where she was. The question on her mind, however, was this: _What the hell just happened?

_After six days of falling into various visions, courtesy of Jack's vast photograph collection, Diana was used to the way they worked. But this was different. The picture she had seen featured three people: Jack, Stress and, unless she was imagining it – the face _was _fuzzy and in the back of the image ­– Oscar Delancey. And the three of them were definitely outside. She was not. Instead, she was inside – in the same old diner she had found herself in when she met Honor Williams in a previous vision._

_She was not alone, either._

_"__And that's what Osc—wait a moment… Jessa? Hey… are you even listening to me?"_

_Diana blinked a few times before noticing the girl that was standing before her. With that same bushy brown hair, small, wispy frame, piercing blue-green eyes and obviously annoyed expression, Diana recognized her: Honor. _

I'm in the same vision again. I'm _Stress _again! _She shook her head. _Talk about déjà vu…

_Choosing to ignore Honor for the moment, Diana glanced down at herself. Just as she had expected to, she found that she was wearing a white button-down blouse, with faint newsprint stains covering the front, and a long black skirt, the hem covered in varying layers of dust and dirt. She lifted her hands slightly so that they were in sight – they were just as stained with ink as her shirt. There was no doubt about. She was Stress._

_She shook her head again. Remembering how this had gone last time, she decided to be honest – or, at least, as honest as she could be – up front with the girl. "No, Honor," she said, "I wasn't listening. I was a… a little out of it, I guess." She attempted a weak smile. It was interesting, meeting Honor's gaze like that. It was almost like she was looking into a furry brown face when she met Honor's eyes. _This is Four_, she told herself. _She has the answers. I should take this chance to get them from her. _"Listen, about—"_

_But Honor was already speaking. "Oh, Jess. You really never know when to listen, do you? This is important, too."_

Important? _That one word stuck out in Diana's mind. Somehow, she doubted that it was anywhere as important as the questions that she had for the other girl. But, what could she do? Just like the last time, Diana had to try her best to impersonate Stress. "Sorry. What were you saying?"_

_Honor's hands were on her hips but there was something about the way that she held her head that told Diana that she was pretending to be angry. "Well, you remember Oscar, right? Oscar Delancey and that brother of his, Morris?"_

_"Unfortunately," Diana quipped, her stomach clenching at the mention of his name. _Oscar Delancey… I wish I could forget him. _In her mind's eye she could see the way that he leered at her; she could almost feel the heat of his breath against her neck again. She shivered. "What about him?" It had been a surprise to her that Oscar had been in that picture with Jack and Stress but, now that she thought about it, it made sense. And, if the demon was alive when Jack was, it also made sense that Honor Williams knew him, too. But what, exactly, did she know?_

_"Well," Honor began, leaning in so that she could whisper, "I heard from Fae that he was back in town. And that ain't all. He's been asking around, looking for Jack." She paused, looking straight into Diana's eyes. Diana looked back, a bit uncomfortable at how the close the two of them were. But she did not move away or interrupt Honor. Now that she had met Oscar – the demon version of Oscar – she wanted to know more about him; if he figured into Jack's curse, and she knew he did, it would definitely help to hear what Honor had to say. _

_When Honor did not finish her story, though Diana had the feeling that there was more to it, Diana nodded. "Okay, yeah? Why's he looking for Jack? What did Jack ever do to him?" She was confused. _

_"Are you kidding?" Honor moved her head back so she could get a full look at Diana's face. "The strike, remember? When your boy won, Oscar and Morris got fired from the distribution center. He's back, now, looking to make Jack pay for it. At least," she added, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, "that's what Fae said. What do you think?"_

_Diana did not know what to think. There was a buzz at the back of her head – Stress's head – but she did not have enough information yet to turn that buzz into anything more than what it was. But that did not mean that she was not going to try. "How's he planning on doing that, do you know?"_

_Honor opened her mouth to reply, only to be cut off when a brash, loud voice interrupted their conversation._

_"Honor?__ Where you at, child? I've got pots that have got to be washed and these potatoes ain't gonna peel themselves. Tell Stress what you need to tell her and get back in the kitchen."_

_And, just like it had happened last time, Honor glanced over at the door marked 'KITCHEN' before turning to look at Diana, apologetically. "I'm sorry, Jessa, but we're going have to finish this later. You know how Mr. Tibby gets, eh?" _

_Cringing on the inside – _damn, why does that guy have to have such perfect timing? – _Diana fought to twist her features into a smile. "Of course," she offered politely, her head still full of everything that Honor had just told her. She watched as Honor leaned forward again and let her hand fall gently on Diana's shoulder. It was the same gesture that had sent Diana back to the present the last time they had met and Diana waited for the familiar jerking sensation that signaled her exit from the past._

_She was still waiting as Honor smiled back at her before disappearing into the kitchen._

_It took Diana a second to realize that she was still trapped in Stress's body, that she was still trapped in the past. She looked around, confused, but all she met were the backs and fronts of uninterested diners. Though she did not understand it, the vision had not ended._

Maybe there's something else I have to see, _she thought. _This is just like the vision I had when I saw Grandma Étaín as a baby. I thought that the vision would end when the picture was taken but it didn't and I got to see Jack with his second cat. I wonder what I'm supposed to see now.

_Whatever it was, Diana was pretty sure that she was not going to see it inside this diner. Hiking up her skirt just a tad – she was unused to the long, flowy material and wanted to make sure that she would not trip over it – while ignoring the scandalized looks from a man that was sitting alone with a newspaper, she turned towards the exit and let herself out._

_It was dark outside. That was the first thing she noticed when she stepped out the door and she marveled at the blackness that hung over the Manhattan streets. There were a few gaslights littering the sides of the roads but, considering the neon-lit city of the future that she was familiar with, this darkness was consuming. She did not like it and, in an attempt to quell the panic that was threatening to rise up in her chest, she shut her eyes._

_"Stress?__ You okay?"_

_Diana's eyes were still closed and now, as someone addressed her, she tried to open them. She could not. The panic that had subsided when she hid herself away from the blackness of the night began to rear its ugly head again. _What's wrong with me, _she wondered. _Why are my eyes stuck? _Trying again, Diana found that her eyes remained closed._

_She tried to lift her hand, her right hand, thinking that she could use careful fingertips to pry the lids open. The hands did not move._

Help! _Diana tried to yell for help but she only hear the scream in her head. Her mouth did not work, either. Nothing did._

_And that's when it hit her. While she was still, technically, in Stress's body, she was no longer in control. Somehow, after walking outside of the diner and closing her eyes, she had been pushed to the side – forgotten. Once again, she was a ghost. This time, though, she was not just a phantom spectator to events of the past; she was there, but she was at the mercy of someone else._

_"Stress?"_

_The voice was warm and filled with concern. It was familiar to her and, if she tried hard enough, she could sense how it made the true wearer of this body feel. Stress loved this voice; she loved the way it murmured her name. But she was not going to let him know that so, as eyes opened – and Diana could see again – she snapped, "What, Jack? I was thinking there for a second."_

_The expression that Jack Kelly wore was one that Diana was accustomed to. It was a cocky look, with brown eyes twinkling with amusement. She could feel Stress's insides squirm as that look was turned on her but she remained defensive. Her hands were crossed over her chest and her chin was tilted up. There was a hint of a smile playing out across her lips, however. _

_As the pair of them stared at each other, Stress waiting for Jack to reply to her retort, Diana looked around her. Out of the corner of Stress's eye Diana could see that she was no longer in the place where she had been last. _Where am I? This isn't the diner, _she realized, confused. _That's… that's the back of Aunt Ria's building right there. How the hell did I get over to Duane Street without even moving my feet? Stupid vision. _It was easier to blame things on the strange magic; she knew she was never going to figure it out and, as everyone knows, ignorance is bliss._

_Jack bowed his head, letting the front strands of his sandy hair fall in his face. "Alright. I'll bite. What were ya thinkin' about?"_

_Diana was partly surprised when she felt Stress shake her head. "Never mind, Jack. It wasn't anything important. Just thinking about selling tomorrow's papers, that's all," she lied. _

_At first, Diana did not understand why Stress did not just tell Jack what she was thinking about. Assuming – and it had to be an assumption since Diana did not know what had happened between leaving the diner and meeting up with Jack – that she was preoccupied with what Honor had said about Oscar, it would make sense that she warned Jack about his return. But then, as she could see Jack watching Stress with a look of disbelief crossing his face, she thought about it another way. Stress, from all she knew (and could feel) about the girl, was stubborn and proud. If Jack was going to jokingly insult her and then try to wheedle information out of her with his next breath, he had another thing coming._

_Diana was not the only one who noticed the way that Jack was glancing at her. She could feel Stress shrugging. "Don't worry about it. It was nothing. Besides, don't you have that poker game tonight?"_

_It was not that difficult to see that she was purposely changing to topic of conversation. Jack could see that something was bothering her and, after thinking it over for a second, decided not to press it. Tomorrow was another day, after all. He would talk to her then. "Yeah, cause I'm such a rush to go inside the lodgin' house," he said with a grin, pointing over her shoulder at the building behind her, "and let Race take all my pennies." He shook his head, adopting a more serious look. He looked like a one of those dogs you see nosing at the trashcans – lost and cute, if somewhat dirty. "And what would happen if I did go in? No one would be out to walk with you and you know as well as I do that these streets can be mean."_

_She laughed in what she hoped was a careless manner. Every time Jack made the mistake of playing poker with Race he complained about it. But that was one of the things she liked about him – he rarely learned from his mistakes. It made her feel useful, always having to clean up after him. Not to mention that it was nice that he looked out for her, even if she did not really need him to. If anything, she needed to look out for him, especially with Oscar carrying on with his grudge. Delancey was, usually, a harmless goon but who knew? Revenge did strange things to people. "Don't worry about me, Cowboy," she told him, trying to sound confident. "I'm a big lass. Besides, all I have to do is walk across town to get to the Girls' Home for the night. I'll be fine."_

_There was a firm tone in her voice but Jack, if he noticed it, did not mention it. Diana found that strange but not as strange as Stress pressing her small hands against his back as she pushed him forward toward the building._

_Jack smiled as he turned over his shoulder to look at her. "But don't you think it would be a better idea if I walked you back? Someone's gotta take care of you—"_

_"And that'll be me, you brute," she tossed back. Diana could sense the minor levels of annoyance that occurred when Jack implied that she needed a chaperone. _Oh, Stress, _Diana thought, _don't get all proud on him. This is Jack, here. You should know that he doesn't know any better. _But, it seemed, if Stress knew that, she did not care. She continued trying to convince Jack to go inside the building. She was still grinning as she said, "Look, Jack, it's just about curfew. I know that you've got your poker game with Race and Blink tonight… so go, alright? I'll be fine, I promise."_

_Diana heard Jack sigh and knew that the boy was giving in to Stress. She had the strange feeling that this would be something that he would regret, though she did not know why that certainty had popped into her brain._ However, it was momentarily forgotten as she watched as Jack leaned in and placed his puckered lips against Stress's cheek. Oh, how cute. A good night kiss, _she thought, feeling like an intruder on what was a personal scene. She remembered how Jack had spoke of Stress, what he was going through to avenge her death and felt that the meaning of that simple gesture was magnified. _

_"I'm gonna hold you to that promise," Jack said. His words were said in a joking manner but Diana, even though she had known Jack for days and Stress… Stress had known him for years, could tell that he meant them._

_Stress rolled her eyes. Diana felt the gesture and could not believe that she had done it – especially since she could hear the beating of her heart. She was as impressed with Jack's words as Diana was… she just was not about to tell Jack that. _"_Whatever you say, Jack," she said, deaf to Diana's cries of _Be nice to him, stupid, he's going to kill himself for you!_ "Now, go. I'll see you tomorrow. How does that sound?" _

_Jack nodded. "Tomorrow."_

_And Diana, who had the very sick sensation that she knew exactly what purpose she was doing there, lurking in Stress's consciousness, just shook her nonexistent head. There would be, she was almost positive, no tomorrow._

_She was right._

_But Stress, of course, did not know that and there was no way for Diana to tell her. So, ignorant of her fate, Stress nodded once in return before pointing at the back door of the lodging house. Once she was sure that Jack had gotten the message – she would be damned if she had someone walk with her the few blocks it took to get back to Bottle Alley when she was in the mood to be alone – she turned around, blew him a kiss – he did not see it – and started to walk away._

_With every step that Stress took, widening the space between her and Jack, Diana expected to be ripped from Stress's body and deposited back in the present. Instead, though, with every steps, Diana felt herself being buried further in Stress. She could feel the rhythm of Stress's heartbeat, and feel the rush of blood through her veins. But that was not all – she could also feel just how the girl was feeling, know what she was thinking._

_It was a really strange feeling for her. It was as if she was two bodies, with two separate minds, but access to both. When she felt that Stress's psyche was overpowering her own, Diana just used the energy she had to remember who she was. Vaguely, she wondered if this was how Stress felt now, in 1999, living in Diana's soul. The thought spooked her and she resolved to ask Stress as soon as she had access to a mirror._

_But that feeling of discomfort and unease was nothing compared to the jolt of fear that coursed through Stress's body just then. _

_Diana, who had not been paying any attention to where Stress was going, quickly intercepted the girl's senses. She saw that they were still enveloped in the strange darkness that was inherent to an electricity-deprived society. They were on a side street and, as far as she could see, there was no one else there. _Why's she scared? It's just the dark, and she wasn't scared before… Wait. What was that?

_She heard it – they both heard it, Stress and Diana. There was a footstep, the silent footstep of someone who, after trying to be quiet, did not care if they were caught. It was a frightening footstep._

_Stress shuddered once before pushing out the fear; Diana clung to it but did not have any control. Stress embraced the darkness and, despite the obvious sound that indicated that she was no longer alone, she continued to walk on her way. She took a few more steps before doing something that Diana, even privy to her thoughts and emotions, did not expect: she stopped dead in her tracks. There had been no decision to do it, either; this was street-bred instinct._

_And there was that sound again. A heavy footstep fell right as Stress stopped but, again, it paused immediately after. Her pulse quickened and her mouth went dry; Diana could feel it and was glad to see that she was not the only one who was nervous. But, unlike Diana, her instinct did not tell her to run away. Her body was primed to whirl around and confront her would-be stalker. And, seeing that Stress was in charge and Diana was just an unwilling passenger, that was exactly what she did. _

_"Who's there?" It was a demand of the darkness and silence was her only response. Her golden eyes narrowed, fists clenched and her head swiveled to and fro as she searched the streets. "I know someone's out there," she said, momentarily forgetting all about Honor's earlier warning, "so you better get to showing yourself." _

_Despite the bravado of such daring words, her voice shook slightly. She was caught midway between Duane Street and Bottle Alley with no help in sight. Stress would never willingly admit it but she was frightened. _

_Diana, however, _would _admit it and, considering she knew how Stress's story ended, she was absolutely terrified. _Run, Stress, run! Haven't you ever seen a horror movie? _She did not want to know whoever it was that was lurking in the darkness. Right then, all Diana wanted was just to be back home in New Jersey. _

_But Stress was not as easily placated. She wanted to know who was out there and she wanted to know now. "Come on out. Or are you yellow?"_

_That last taunt did it. The footsteps started up again, as slow and fearsome as before, as a large silhouette appeared at the end of the street. Moonlit shadows kept them hidden but not for long._

_Relief flooded her body – the sudden rush was so fast and so strong that the essence that was Diana seemed to be banished even further to the back of Stress's consciousness without Stress ever being alerted to her presence – as the figure emerged out from the darkness and underneath one of the gaslights. Beneath the flicker of a barely lit flame, she could make out the leering figure and, even though that ugly leer was directed at her, she was relieved. She was not afraid of him._

_She should have been._

_"My, my, my... if it ain't Oscar Delancey," she taunted, a smarmy grin twisting her features in an attempt to hide that relief. "I thought you and your brother got chased out of Manhattan with your tails between your legs when the strike ended."_

_Oscar's leer gave way to a vicious sneer as he stuck out his right pointer finger. Jabbing it at the dark, he countered, "You think you damn newsies are all so smart. Pull a fast one over some old fogies and you think you're sittin' on top of the world. Ha!" He shook his head, dropped his hand and lowered his voice. Venom dripped off of his every word as he advanced menacingly towards her. "None of you are worth shit. That strike was a joke."_

_Her hands went to her hips. If there was a warning in the manner of his speech or the way he was glaring down at her, she did not notice. He was the one who, for some reason or another, had been following her and now he wanted to stop and pick a fight with her? She was not having that._

_Incensed, she snapped, "You take that back, Delancey. That strike was just and you know it. Those rich mugs like Hearst and Pulitzer had no right in trying to milk us out of another ten cents per hundred. Jack was right." She looked down her nose at him, a tricky feat considering the ill lighting, and snorted. "You're just jealous that he and Dave won and you boys lost."_

_Now, even Diana knew that that was not the right thing to say. But, being that she was no more than a hint of who she was, there was no way she could warn Stress about that. Nor could she cry out an alert when she saw the object that Oscar had smoothly slid out of the back of his trousers. _

_The dull blade, despite its obvious use, found a way to glint under the weak strength of that minute, dancing flame. It did not travel just yet, though; it kept its place, stationary at Oscar's left side, dangling limply in his left hand, just waiting for the moment when it would be of value once more._

_Stress, however, did not see the fearsome object and, therefore, continued to stare defiantly into Oscar's dirt-stained face. From his overgrown, greasy hair, to the dark, lifeless eyes that stuck out on his face, he looked like total hell. As she caught a good glimpse of the way the few weeks following the strike had changed the former distribution center worker, Stress faltered – but only a bit. She was not frightened now. Just nervous, perhaps. _

_Despite her best effort, she gulped._

_Oscar caught sight of the action. The right corner of his mouth twitched, quirking upwards in mild amusement, as he shook his head. "You don't get it. You never did, did you?" He took another step towards her, his boot slapping the pavement loudly with the effort. But, when he spoke, his voice was low and intimidating. "That Jack of your's is a bigger nothing than anyone I've ever met. He's a liar and a cheat and—"_

_She stuck out her chin before cutting him off. "Yeah, so? You think I'm stupid or something? I know all about that. He ain't even really Jack Kelly, is he? Francis Sullivan, that's his name. But I don't care. Jack or Francis or, hell, even Queen Victoria," she added, throwing her hands up in the air for emphasis, "it don't matter. He's still ten times the man you are, Oscar!"_

No!_ Diana struggled inside her strange fleshy prison. Unlike Stress, she had – most against her will but still… – seen all the horror movies and this was as cliché as it could get: the villain and the victim meet up and the victim, unaware of the true capacity of the villain, deliberately baits him to unfortunate consequences. And, with the knife already in Oscar's hand, Diana knew what those consequences would be. _Don't do this, Stress! Just walk away!

_Diana's thoughts held no sway over Stress and, if Diana had been thinking straight, she would have known that. But the truth was that, at that very moment, she was _not _thinking straight. She had, once confronted with the glint of the blade, forgotten entirely that she was a silent witness to an event that had already taken place, nearly one hundred years prior. Nothing she could do could change that but she had to try._

_Right then, all she was aware of was that Stress was being cocky and Oscar had a weapon. Add that to the fact that Diana knew all too well – thanks to the strange, wayward dream she had that implanted the idea that Jack was the murderer in her head – that the girl had died from a stab wound and Diana knew what was coming. Unfortunately._

_But Stress, it seemed, had no idea. She just stared at Oscar, waiting for him to respond._

_And he did – but he did so in a way that caught both Stress and Diana off guard. Without a word, he grinned and took another step toward her, effectively closing that gap that had remained between the two bodies. With a smirk, he lifted his right hand and ran his pointer fingers down the side of her face. "You want to say that again?"_

_His touch did not burn against Stress's flesh as it had when he came to Diana in her dream but, by the way that Stress jerked her head out of his reach, one would never know. "Get away from me, Oscar," she said warningly, golden eyes glaring at him._

_The smirk tightened and he tensed. "Make me," he hissed, taking his right hand back slowly. He raised his eyebrows, daring her to say anything else. To do anything else._

_Stress may have been careless and reckless but she was not stupid. She lowered her eyes, conceding defeat. He was taller than her, heavier than her and stronger than her and she was alone. There was only so far a false sense of bravery and a loud mouth could get her. "Just leave me alone, Oscar. Jack, too. It ain't worth it."_

_"See, that's where you're wrong," he told her, laughing under his breath. It was rough laughter, the kind that does not evoke any positive emotion. Nasty laughter. Diana shivered, Stress gulped again. "Dead wrong."_

_It all happened so fast. Diana, with her focus on the knife that was in Oscar's hand, did not even have a chance to cry out uselessly before the knife was plunged into the girl's side. He left it in there for a beat before drawing it out slowly, making sure to cause increased agony with the jerky motion. Then, once the bloodstained knife was proudly displayed under the ominous moon, he watched as Stress doubled over._

_It took her a second – one alarmingly long second – to realize what had happened. To know that Oscar Delancey had, with one thrust, left a gash in her side. That realization was quickly overshadowed, though. As soon as the truth made itself known to her, the pain was not too far behind._

_"Why?" It was the only word she could get out before the pain came._

_And then the pain was all she knew. It was hot and searing and ran down the lengths of her body. Heat swelled from her side as sticky blood stained her good blouse and dribbled down her leg. Her hand was clutching the gaping wound, eyes entranced by the way the crimson liquid shimmered in the moonlight. She was doing anything in order not to meet the satisfied expression she expected to find on Oscar's face._

_But where _was_ Oscar? Even without looking around, she knew the answer. Coward's legs had driven him and he was gone, the fateful knife with him. Not one clue remained to incriminate him at all._

_He had killed her and he had fled…_

_Diana felt the pain double – pain beyond anything she had ever known was all but ripping her existence apart – but she did have the advantage of not being consumed by it. Struggling to hold onto something, anything, that would make this situation better, she found and clung to two thoughts that had buried themselves, amidst the sudden shockwaves of pain, in Stress's mind: the face of Jack Kelly was there, as well as the word promise. _

_It was puzzling at first but, with clarity that she did not even know she could possess, Diana knew what it meant. Stress had promised him that she would be all right and she had lied. She had lied to Jack, she had broken her promise and, for that, she needed to apologize. _

_Stress did not even need any assistance from Diana to rise above the horrible pain and cling to a little bit of hope. And, with that last goal in mind, the dying girl slowly picked herself up off of the dirt floor. There was only three blocks back to Duane Street and she was sure she could make it. It would be the last thing she did, but she would do it._

_For Jack…_

--

With a set of golden eyes snapping open, Diana woke up, gasping. She jerked upwards, her mouth slightly open, her right hand held out protectively out in front of her. Those eyes were filled with unshed tears and her body was trembling all over. Slowly, with both Patrick and Jack acting as awestruck witnesses, her right hand slid up to rest on her side. She felt the phantom pain of a dirty knife slashing through her skin and caressed the area, rubbing the t-shirt. Vaguely, she recognized that the fabric she wore now was quite different than the white blouse that she had been wearing in the vision but it did not matter to her.

Nothing _really _mattered…

As if still in a daze, Diana removed her hand and lifted it up to her face. Through a haze of tears, she looked at her hand, expecting to see it swathed in crimson blood. Only then, when she was met with clean white fingertips, did she speak:

"I… I'm sorry…"

That last word was ended on a whisper, long and drawn out and incredibly painful to hear. One single, solitary tear slid down her cheek before her eyelids lowered dramatically. Then, with a rush of air, a single exhale, the girl fell backwards, collapsing against the small cot; her head only just found that same heart-shaped pillow as mahogany curls – with those clear butterfly clips – splayed outwards, forming a strange semblance of a halo.

Diana Mason was – for the moment, at least – gone…

--

End Note: _And there you have it. But, don't worry. There's still six chapters left – and quite a bit more story, too. _

_PS. I meant to mention it last chapter but, in case you forgot about the pillow, that was referenced in chapter 16. And the photograph, that was in chapter 25. See, I did have a reason to tell you why all those early (and some not so early) chapters were important!_


	55. LV

Author's Note: _Well, I'm back. I could say other things but, instead, I'm going to let this chapter speak for itself. Five chapters to go. And props to anyone who can tell me who the cats are :)_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

July 29, 2007

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

--

PART FIFTY FIVE

--

There was a slight groaning sound and it took Diana a second to realize that the sound was coming from her. It was a deep, if quiet, noise that started at the bottom of her chest and rose up through her throat before escaping out through a partially opened mouth. As soon as the groan had erupted from deep within her, she knew she was conscious again. And not only conscious – but back in her own body.

Her eyes were still shut and for good reason. Despite knowing for sure that she was herself again, the girl did not know where she was and she was not all that interested in finding out. Her head was foggy and, for some reason, there was a strange sharp pain cutting into her right side.

_What is going on…? _

And that was when Diana remembered what had happened, where she had just been. It was a struggle to hold onto everything that she had seen; the details were vanishing as if they were grains of sand slipping through her fingers. But she could still see very vivid flashes – and that was enough for her to recall most of the fatal vision, including the big reveal: Oscar Delancey had, nearly one hundred years ago, killed Stress Rhian.

_Hey, Stress? _Diana continued to keep her eyes closed and her breathing slowed as she focused all of energy on contacting Stress. Now that Jack's photograph of the two of them, plus Oscar, had revealed that it was _Oscar_ who had murdered Stress, Diana wanted her to be the first to know. After all, her life was the one that had been stolen by the Delancey boy – it was only fit that she was the first to learn the truth._ Did you see that? Did you see who… who killed you? It was Oscar. You won – you and Jack… Stress? _

There was no answer from the dead girl, though. And, if Diana would have been thinking straight, she might have noticed that; she might have noticed that it had been quite awhile since the last time she could hear – or even sense – Stress's presence. But, to be honest, Diana was not thinking straight. She was still trapped, half of her consciousness lingering in the severity of the vision she had just witnessed.

"Diana?"

"Diana?"

The voices, spoken almost in stereo, had the power to remind her that she was, wherever she was, not alone. She could hear as someone – _no, two someones – _called for her but she still resisted. She kept her eyes closed stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge their voices. The flashes were still hovering before her mind's eye and she held onto them. If she lost sight of them, and forgot what they meant, then she would have nothing to tell Jack.

_Jack. _

"Diana? Can ya hear me, kid? You alright?"

_That's Jack's voice. Jack is here… what is Jack doing here? _

"Diana… hey, I thought I heard you make a noise. I don't know. Maybe you've got gas or something. Right?"

_Wait… wha—? The cab driver? Patrick? What the hell is _he _doing here? And with Jack? Huh? _

There was a grunt this time but it did not come from Diana. "Yeah, that's right, punk. The Daite girl has a vision, one that screws with her, and then comes back with gas. Of course." Jack's voice was gruffer than before, with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion thrown in for good measure. "Cause, you know, it couldn't have anythin' to do with how weird she went over the last coupla hours, huh?"

_Okay. Maybe I _don't _want to know what is going on. Hours? What time is it? _

Slowly, since she was still feeling this phantom pain on her right side, Diana sat up on what she knew had to be a bed. Only then, when she was propped up against the wall, feeling a bit more certain about herself – even if she had no idea to what was happening, following the discovery of the identity of Stress's murderer – did she open her eyes.

"_Ee_k!" She scrambled backwards, very nearly bumping her head against the brick wall in her haste. Immediately after opening her eyes Diana had found herself face to face with two sets of anxious eyes, one brown and one cyan, both equally disconcerting at such a close proximity.

The owners of those eyes, both Jack Kelly and Patrick Conlon, stepped back when she shrieked, though neither was aware of the other's movement. They were staring at the obviously distressed girl, instead.

"Hey, kid, calm down. Everything's alright." It was Jack who was the first to speak; Patrick just stood there as he continued to watch Diana cautiously. She was breathing heavily, eyes darting about nervously, but Jack could tell that she was herself again – at the very least, it was a relief to see that those nervous eyes were once again green rather than golden.

Jack had adopted a softer tone when addressing the teenager, a tone that was quite at odds with the way he had spoken to her earlier that afternoon. There was just something about the way that Diana was acting – skittish and wary – that obviously worried the ghost boy. When she did not say anything in response to his words, he waved his hand in front of her face. "Diana, kid, you are alright… aren't ya?"

Without another thought, Diana pushed his hand away from her face. She shook her head once and both the foggy feeling in her head and the phantom pain in her side disappeared. Not only that, but the flashes from the visions abruptly faded – the truth, however, remained. For as long as she lived Diana doubted that she would ever forget the expression on Oscar's face when he stabbed Stress or the feeling of absolutely agony as the knife ripped through flesh.

"Jack!"

Her voice, as urgent as it was, surprised her almost as much as it did the boys but she did not care. It was too much right then for her to deal with – too much happening all at once – and she thought that, by focusing on something besides what she had just seen, it would be easier to understand later. And what better way to lessen the strain on dwelling on Stress's murder than telling Jack all about it?

Not to mention that fact that she found it very strange the way that the two boys were still staring at her – she did not like the attention. She wanted it to stop and figured that, by reminding Jack of his purpose, she could get them to stop watching her as if they expected her to vanish before their eyes. Unfortunately for the girl, though, she just did not realize that, by yelling out the ghost boy's name, she was all but demanding that they look at her.

"What?" Jack pulled his hand out of Diana's reach, slightly annoyed but more worried about the way she was currently acting. Still, there was an undeniable sulky quality to his voice now.

"You'll never guess what—"

She stopped.

As if it had just occurred to her – and it had – Diana knew that she could not tell Jack about what she had seen… not straight away, at least. The way she figured it, if she came right out and told Jack that it had been Oscar Delancey who was responsible for Stress's untimely death then the curse would presumably break and she would never have the chance to learn who, exactly, the monster was that killed the poor girl. And, given her insatiable curiosity, that would never do.

What, then, _could _she do?

"I'll never guess what?"

_Um… _She shook her head, annoyed at herself for opening her mouth before she had had the chance to really think about what had just happened. "Oh, uh, don't worry about that, Jack. It's nothing."

Jack's eyebrow raised. "Nothing? I don't know what happened to you, kid, but I'll say this: it wasn't nothing. So, what did you see? You had to have seen something, right?"

She did not want to lie but, just then, she did not want to tell the truth either. That left one option: change the subject and Diana, she knew exactly what she wanted to discuss instead. "Jack, who was Oscar?"

He threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "Oh, not this shit again. C'mon, kid, didn't we already go through this?"

_I knew he was gonna say that_, Diana thought to herself. But, just because Jack was as predictable as she knew he could be, that did not mean that she was going to drop it. She would not tell him another thing about anything until she knew – really knew – who the Delancey boy was.

"Yeah, but you never really answered my question, did you? I know you knew him… but how? How does he fit into this? And I don't mean anything about this weirdo who's been stalking me. I'm talking about the Oscar from when you were alive. Who the hell was he?"

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean why?"

"Just what I said: why? What is _so_ damn important about Delancey that you're stuck on him?"

That stung. Even though Jack did not know everything that Diana knew about Oscar, it bothered her to no end that he assumed she was fixated on a killer. "Stuck on him? I'm not stuck on him, you idiot! I just want to know, Jack. Why's that so hard to understand?"

Jack crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down his nose on the girl. "Come off it, kid. You've only been involved for a week—not even a week, six days. You don't get off playin' like you know everything, demanding that I tell you stupid details that ain't important. I'll tell you what I think you should know. That's it."

"Oh really?" Diana shot back, livid. _How dare he talk to me like that? And all I've been trying to do is _help _him! _"How about—"

"Hey, hey, hey… whoa there, Diana." Patrick held up his right hand, shaking his head in disbelief, as he drew her attention back to him. To be honest, in the midst of their heated discussion, both Jack and Diana had forgotten all about the living boy that was present with them and his voice cut through the tension as they turned to look at him.

He could see that her green eyes were trained on him and guessed that the ghost boys' invisible ones were as well. He cleared his throat. "Alright. Look, I've been holed up in here for God knows how long now and, yeah, I've seen some crazy shit. I've been spun around like a fucking top," he said, spinning his pointer finger in the air to illustrate his words, "and I've seen a girl float through the air. Now, I haven't lost my cool yet," he lied, "but I'm gonna if someone doesn't tell me what the hell is going on here."

Diana opened her mouth to respond – Jack did, with a "ah-_Ha_" – but Patrick cut her off. When he spoke, his voice was full of biting sarcasm. "Yeah, sure, I know that there's some sort of Casper haunting this Commerce and talking to you, Diana, but newsflash: I can't see him. I can't hear him, either. And, I'll tell you this, it ain't all that great not knowing what you and your… friend are talking about. Shit," he said, finally losing the sarcastic tone; he sounded antsy, instead, "I want to help but I need to know what I'd be helping you to do."

Right then, Diana did not know whether she should feel flattered, guilty or both at Patrick's outburst. It was nice to hear that Patrick, after witnessing all of the supernatural occurrences he had that afternoon, still wanted to help. But, really, what could he do? She knew everything she needed to know, it was just a matter of using that information to break the curse for once and for all.

That did not mean that she wanted to flat-out refuse his help. He looked so eager to do what he could – or, at least, learn what had been going on ever since he followed Diana into this strange abode – that she did not have the heart to tell him no right out. "That's nice and all, Patrick, but… I don't know. It's so confusing, I don't think I'd be able to explain it all as good as it deserves. And," she said, thinking back to all she had just seen, "I really don't have the time to even try to explain."

"Confusin' ain't the word for it, kid," Jack snorted. "Besides, why does he need to know anything? You should just get rid of him. He's not worth your time." There was almost a pout to his voice but Diana ignored it. She had the feeling that what Jack wanted was to instigate another fight; if he did, then her attention would be on him again and he would be able to find out what she had just seen.

He underestimated the girl, though. She knew that was exactly what he was trying to do so, rather than give in, she just ignored him.

Or, at least, she tried to.

"I mean, look at him. He's just an imitation of Spot, and not even a good one. He'd have been a scabber, I bet," Jack continued, purposely egging the girl on.

That was enough. "Hush, Jack," Diana snapped, turning to look over at Jack. He held up his hands in defense and she rolled her eyes. She was getting tired of Jack slighting Patrick and wished he would just stop already. The cab driver was still there, wasn't he? He had not asked to be freed; he was actually interested in what was going on and wanted to help.

Patrick was still tapping his foot against the floor, entirely unaware of Jack's latest insults. His curiosity was piqued and he would be damned if he went on his merry way without finding out what was going on. "Listen, Diana, you want to know who this… what was it? Oscar?" Diana nodded. "Yeah, Oscar. Now, you want to know who this Oscar dude was, well, I want to know who your ghost pal is. Like I said, maybe if I get a little info, then I can help you get some. What do you say?"

Diana spluttered for a bit, trying to figure out where to go from there. "Um…" She had nothing. Off to her side, Jack was laughing now. She ignored him. "You know what, Patrick? I would but I'm still trying to get something out of Jack here."

But that did not stop Patrick. He snapped his fingers and picked up the black book he had been looking at before. "I've got an idea," he said, waving the book around. "Why don't you have Casper write down what he knows about that Oscar guy in this book I found so I can read it, too? Then, when he's writing in here, you can tell me what's going on and, after he's done, we can both look."

It was, both Jack and Diana had to admit, a good idea and so simple, too. He may not be able to talk to Jack but he should be able to read anything that the ghost boy had written.

And, if the girl had not recognized the book that he was so cavalierly waving around, she would have been impressed at the plan. However, she _did _recognize the book and, at once, Jack knew she had, too. Diana inhaled deeply, sharply, her pointer finger extended. She pointed at the black book clasped lightly in Patrick's loose grip. "Where did you get that?"

"I found it. Right over here," he added, surprised. He pointed at the pile of photographs that was stacked haphazardly to his side.

She shook her head impatiently. "Not you. I was talking to Jack." She spun around so that she was facing him. "Where'd you get that book, Jack? That looks just like the book from my night table."

Jack thought she had been talking to him but had chosen not to answer in case Patrick was going to take the fall for Diana's escalating nerves and rising temper. However, as she coldly eyed him, he knew that that plan was not going to happen. There was only one plan that was going to succeed, he figured: Lie. He ran his hand through his hair before attempting to adopt a charming smile. "What, that? It's just a book, Diana. I saw it in your room the other day, got bored and thought I'd read it."

The girl did not look like she was buying a word of his lie so Jack thought he would try to get her mind off it. Inwardly cursing the nosy Conlon boy from picking it up – while, at the same time, cursing himself for leaving Les Jacob's journal lying about – Jack said, "Oh, come on, Diana. You remember." His lips were curved mischievously as he could not help but say, "The day I saw you naked."

Even now, faced with an ever-looming deadline and a Daite girl that spent more time in the past than in the present, there was still a streak of mischief that shot through him and he had no problem taking advantage of it. He had a pretty good idea how those words would affect Diana and Patrick.

He was right.

"Naked? When you saw me naked! Oh, Jack, I'm gonna… gonna… ooh!" Despite her outburst – or probably because of it – Diana's pale face went as red as a beet at once; Patrick's mouth, after hearing what she had to say, dropped open.

But the boy did not remain surprised for long. A wolfish grin was firmly in place as he glanced at Diana, "Naked? Now why wasn't I there for that?"

Her next reaction was immediate. Diana turned around and smacked Patrick on his upper arm before snatching the book out of his grasp. As he rubbed the spot where Diana's palm had struck him, she stalked over to Jack and hit him on his right shoulder. The ghost boy had been expecting it and, perhaps because he felt a tad guilty, he kept his form solid so that Diana would have the satisfaction of hitting him.

"Perverts," she muttered under her breath, her face still colored with a reddish hue.

She was obviously distracted while in her angry state and, before she could stop him, he had grabbed the book out of her hand. His reasoning behind doing so was twofold: he did not want her actually reading what was inside it and, at the same time, he thought it might appease her if he did something unexpected. Which he did – he agreed with Patrick.

"You know what, Diana, I think this boy's right. I should be grateful that he's offering to help me, especially with the deadline getting closer and closer. So, why don't I write down a couple of facts about Oscar and you, you fill in this idio—Patrick," he said, correcting himself at the last minute. He grinned cheekily to cover himself. "It can't hurt."

Reluctantly – most reluctantly – she agreed. "Fine. I guess."

She waited until she had seen Jack pick up a pen from atop another of his many piles and actually start writing on a random page halfway through the black book before turning back to face Patrick. The blond boy looked a bit wary when she turned her gaze on him -- he was obviously expecting her to say something about his earlier comment – but the nervous expression did not last. As soon as Diana started to explain everything – well, not _everything_ – that she knew about Jack's Devil's curse, his nervous expression quickly faded into one of confusion and then one of interest.

She left out quite a lot, only telling him the basics: how, one hundred years ago, a girl called Stress was killed and how a doofus named Jack Kelly was conned by the Devil into giving up his life in order to avenge her murder. Diana tried her best to explain her family's role in the curse but, seeing as how she did not want to let slip the information that Stress, herself, had given her, it sounded very shaky; she did not blame him for looking as skeptical as he did.

"So, you see," she said, finishing up her explanation, "Jack only has a bit more time left until his hundred years are up and it's up to me and him… and you, now, if you still want to help," she added, "to figure out who killed her." She paused, attempting a weak smile. "See? I told you it was complicated."

"Yeah…"

And that was all Patrick said.

Of course, thought, that might have been because, just as Diana finished telling her tale, the open black book had begun to float towards the pair of them. Well, it was not _exactly _floating; Jack was carrying it over to her so that she could read what he had written. However, seeing as how Patrick could not see the ghost boy, it was, for all intents and purposes, floating to his eye.

Diana, like Patrick, did not say a word as she accepted the book from Jack. He bowed his head in a mock-salute before stepping away, leaving the other two to read what he had jotted down:

**Oscar was a bum, simple as that. But, I guess, if you really want to know, I can tell you. I knew him for years, ever since I was thirteen. I was a newsie, one of the best there was, and Oscar, he worked down at the distribution center with his ape of a brother, Morris, and their sleazy uncle, Weasel. They always got off on picking fights with anyone who couldn't fight back but I took care of them. **

**They was both dumb but Oscar, he was the smarter of the two Delancey brothers. I guess you could say he was the brains and Morris, he was the muscle. That's why Oscar was the worst one. He was a bad guy and all, a real hooligan. But, when I look back on it, they weren't all that tough. **

**Oscar was a real pain in my side until the summer I was seventeen. That was the year of the strike and, after it was done, that was last we saw of the Delancey's. Weas got fired from his job and he took his bum nephews with him. They never bothered us newsies again, even after I died. **

**From what I gathered from the Oscar that we both know now, he got himself killed when he was still pretty young. As soon as he bit it, he went on to work for the Devil. A soul collector, he calls himself. Me, I still think he's a low-life jerk and I can't wait to break this damn curse and rub it in his ugly face. **

**There. I hope you're happy now, Diana. That's all I know about him. **

Ignoring the dig at the bottom of the page, she kept on reading. In fact, she was reading the small, slanted print a third time when Patrick elbowed her in the side, effectively ripping her attention away from the page. "Well, that was definitely more interesting than the shit in the beginning of this book, right?"

Diana, still preoccupied by thoughts of Oscar Delancey, barely noticed what Patrick had said; at the very least, it did not occur to her to question his comment, considering she was under the assumption that the book was blank. "Wha—?"

Jack, though, knew exactly what Patrick had meant – and wanted to keep that knowledge from Diana. Wiithout even a warning, he reached out and grabbed the book from Diana's open hands. He snapped it shut before tossing it onto the bed behind him. "Now, kid, why don't you tell me why it was so damn important that I told you about Delancey."

She took a deep breath, trying to get her head straight. After all that, she still had no motive for Oscar, no understanding why he would do something so vicious as killing Stress. _Well, except for revenge… but murder over a childhood grudge? Could it be that simple? I guess I'll never know…_

But it was time for Jack to know the truth. It would not be fair to keep the information from him any longer. So, with a sigh (and a silent goodbye and good riddance, should the confession kill the curse), Diana told him.

"Well, Jack, it's simple. Oscar Delancey killed your Stress."

Diana waited for it. She did not know what she expected but, regardless of what she thought should happen at the breaking of the curse, nothing happened. Jack still stood there, a look of utter surprise on his face. Whether or not that surprise was from the understanding that it was Oscar who had killed his girlfriend, or surprise that he was still stuck in his hideaway, Diana did not know. She was too busy herself, looking around to see if anything was different.

"Is that… is that it?" Patrick was the one to speak up. He shrugged his shoulders as he looked over at Diana. "I don't know, did something happen? I didn't see nothing. Is, uh, Casper still here?"

It took Diana a second to answer him; she was preoccupied with tapping Jack on the arm, making sure he _was_ still there. He was, though he, too, was momentarily speechless. "Yeah, I think so. I don't know what's going on, though. Nothing, I think. Jack, how do you feel? Any different?"

The ghost boy nodded once then stopped. He shook his head instead. "Nope." He scratched his forehead, his lips turned down in a confused frown. "That can't be right. I don't feel different at all. Satisfied, but not different, really."

There was a moment of silence while the three of them kept to their own minds before Diana thought to clue Patrick in on Jack's last response. Almost whispering as she turned to face Patrick, she said, "He's definitely still here but he says nothing's really different. Nothing's changed."

Patrick shook his head, holding up his hand in a gesture of utter confusion. "Alright, I may be the new guy here and shit but didn't you just tell me that Casper was hanging around because he needed to know who killed his girlfriend?"

Diana nodded.

"And didn't you just tell him who done it?"

She nodded again, a little frustrated at how simple Patrick was making it all sound.

Patrick shrugged. "Alright, then what's going on?"

"I don't know," Diana confessed, as confused as Patrick appeared and as disappointed as Jack looked, "but it's not what I thought would happen. Unless..." She paused, turning her head so that she was looking back in the ghost boy's direction, "unless it was all a joke. Maybe the Devil wasn't ever going to let you win."

If Diana thought that such an idea was one that would appeal to Jack she was mistaken. He gave a terse jerk of his head, denying her suggestion. "No. If there's one thing that the Devil ain't, it's someone who goes against a deal. But he _is _tricky," he admitted. There was another moment of total quiet before Jack snapped his fingers. He had it. "That's it. The curse ain't broken until I know all about what happened that night. Yeah, I know who killed her but… there's gotta be more."

Diana sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

_Anthony Higgins. It's gotta come down him… what did you say, Stress? "Watch out for Tony. I wish I could tell you more about him but I can't. You're going to have to figure that out on your own." Damn it, I should have known it wouldn't be over until I figured out what his role in this mess was. Crap. _

"Why? Is there something else you know, Diana?"

There was no denying the suspicious tone in Jack's voice. His hands were clenched at his side and his lips, rather than remain curved downward in a frown, had thinned.

She gulped. "Not… not really. You see, remember when I was asking you about your friend, Anthony?"

"Race? Yeah. What about him?"

"We—ell…I kinda get the feeling that he's got something to do with this. Not him, I mean," she said, backpedaling quickly as Jack opened his mouth to comment, "but his grandkid. Tony Higgins. He's, uh, he's going to be visiting with my aunt tonight and, I don't know, I just get the weirdest vibe." She laughed – it was a fake laugh – and took a step away from Jack… and a step closer to Patrick. For some reason, it just seemed safer to be closer to him.

But all Jack did was bob his head up and down slowly, as if taking the time to digest Diana's suspicions.

"Alright, you know what, you might just be right, kid. I mean, there's gotta be more to this and, who knows, maybe it does have something to do with Race's family. There's still close to a month left, right? It couldn't hurt to pop on over to Ria's place and check this guy out, huh?"

_Well, that went better than I expected. _Feeling altogether relieved, Diana opened her mouth to tell him what she knew about Tony but she never got the chance. Before she had even said a word, someone else had taken the opportunity to speak.

_Yesss… ssso very clossse… _

Clamping her mouth shut, she turned around, looking for the source of that hissing voice; it was high-pitched but resembled a whisper and Diana had the strange sensation that she knew who – or what – it belonged to.

As she looked around for Four – _that damn cat's got to be here somewhere _– Jack continued talking, "Okay, Diana, me and you will head on out to Duane Street." He jerked his thumb over at Patrick who was leaning against the brick wall, oblivious to the discussion but not to Diana's not-so-subtle search for Four. "We can lose this bum on the way, what do you think?"

When she heard the quiet that indicated that Jack had stopped talking she nodded. "Yeah, Jack, sure. Whatever you say…" she said, not really knowing what she was saying. She was too busy squatting down to the floor of Jack's hideaway, eager to see if Four was hiding under the bed again.

That was when she saw it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something twitch and she straightened up. The reason why she had not noticed Four sitting at the head of Jack's cot was simple: the fair-haired cat curled up on the heart-shaped pillow was not Four.

She blinked once, then twice, certain that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But, no… when she opened her eyes up the cat was still sitting there. It was a longer cat than Four, though that might have been because it was stretched out now. Her fur was sleeker than Four's and very close to blonde in color; her eyes were a bright blue. When it caught sight of Diana gawking at it she lifted a paw in what could only be described as a wave.

_What? _

Diana looked away again. It was one thing to notice that a second cat had found its way into Jack's room but to see it _wave _at her? That was strange, even by Diana's (new) standards.

"Mew."

She could not help it. The cat sounded so forceful, so authoritative, that she had no choice but to look back over at it.

Diana started to gasp in surprise before quickly suppressing the sound; she did not want to draw the boy's attention over to her again. It was bad enough that she was becoming convinced that she _was_ seeing things.

It was a different cat lying across the bed where the blonde cat had been.

This cat was larger than both Four and the other cat, though the dark fur was just as sleek as the stranger; her tail was thin and long and currently twitching about as Diana's mouth dropped open. She actually recognized this cat – and not just by the size, shape and color of it. In fact, it was the creature's eyes that made itself known to her: the cat had one blue but the other eye… it was purple.

Two different color eyes, just like Fae. Just like…

_Twoey, that's what Jack called this cat. This is Two! This is Jack's second cat. Holy crap! _

Now that she recognized the cat, Diana wanted nothing more than to point out her appearance to her former master but, just as she made to turn around and tell Jack, she noticed that something was different about Two. She was changing…

_  
Wait—what the hell's happening _now

As she stared in awe at Two, something strange was happening to the feline; she did not remove her eyes from the cot, despite the buzz of Jack's nagging in the back of her head. This was too important – it proved to Diana that she was not as crazy as she thought. It really was happening.

The brown cat was sitting up now, looking up at Diana, but she was not as brown anymore – not really. Her dark color fur was fading away into a blond color, a few shades darker than the first strange cat she had seen. The two different colored eyes melded into a shocking blue… but wait.

This third cat did not have two good eyes but, rather, one; the left eye was all but shut, a scar running down the length of its eyelid. It was a shaggier cat than its predecessors and, as Diana took a tentative sniff, she noticed it smelled funny. Dirty, almost.

This cat, with its one working eye, glared at her before turning its head away. It turned in a circle – she noticed with distaste that this cat was a he – before facing front again and jumping to the wooden floor. He landed with a soft _plop_ before sitting down at her feet.

She had the strange urge to reach down and touch this cat, if only to make sure that he was real.

"Hey, Diana. Are you comin'?"

She shook her head, ridding it of the insane urge, before turning to look over her shoulder at Jack. The ghost boy was standing in front of the inner brick wall, waiting, his right hand resting gently on Patrick's unknowing shoulder. Eyes wide, foot tapping and his stance impatient, it was obvious that Jack was ready to leave his hidden room.

Diana nodded. "Oh, uh, yeah, Jack. I'll be right there. I just needed to… to…," she said, struggling to come up with a plausible excuse for her strange actions, "to grab this picture of yours real quick." She swooped down, proud of hber improvisation, and picked up the dropped picture of Jack and Stress (and Oscar).

Once she had bent down, and the picture was safely face-down in her hand, Diana slyly looked back over at the strange new cat.

But it was not that strange, half-blind cat sitting in front of her any more. Instead, it was Four that was sitting, her rump on the wooden floor, paws settled neatly before her, bushy brown tail curled in front of her and, unless the girl was imagining it, Four's little pink mouth was twisted into what could only be described as a secretive smile.

"Meow," she mewed, a crisp short sound to let Diana know that she saw her, too. And then she winked.

_Did she… did that _cat _just… _wink_ at me? _ The photograph falling, forgotten, from flustered fingers, Diana hurriedly stood up, backing away from Four as fast as she could. Blinking in surprise – _she did, didn't she? – _the girl did not stop until she was standing right beside Patrick

There was just enough time then for the cat to hiss out a barely audible, "Thanksss," before Jack reached out and grabbed Diana's upper arm. His hand, though Patrick could not feel it, was already resting on the Conlon boy's shoulder. As soon as his hand had closed around Diana's arm he used his supernatural power to pull the three of them through the brick wall and out of the hideaway.

They were gone so fast that none of them were present to witness it when Four just simply faded away into sheer and absolute nothingness.


	56. LVI

Author's Note: _It's getting harder and harder to realize that this is so close to the end. When I started this sucker, I never expected it to take me on such a strange journey but now, with only four stops left after this… yeah, I can't believe it. And over 200K now? Holy cow. I have to give major props and thanks to anyone who has actually read this whole beast – if I hadn't done the whole thing, I don't think I'd have the patience to sit through it. You guys are amazing!_

_Also, I just wanted to say that part of this chapter corresponds with the edited version of chapter 10; I rewrote the chapter and the idea that Jack's powers waste time was put into the new version. Just saying ;)_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

August 11, 2007

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

--

PART FIFTY SIX

--

"What was that?"

Tony did not bother even lifting his head from what he was working on. Oscar had been lurking in the shadows of the office for nearly a day and a half now and the only way he was able to deal with the demon as company was to pretend he was not there at all. It had rarely been working and just when it had, Oscar had to louse things up by reasserting his existence. Tony just continued to ignore him.

He was not sure why Oscar had not left after his borrowed cigarette had been smoked down to the ends but it was not a topic he dwelled on. Oscar was nothing more than an inconvenience to Tony, a child that got in his way when the adult was hard at work, and that was how he was treated.

The way Tony figured it, Oscar knew that it was Tony's intent to return to the cursed building on Duane Street that evening and then, once he was safely inside, reap the souls that the Devil so wanted; as such, Oscar was smart enough, selfish enough, to know that he wanted to be there when it happened if he wanted any sort of reward from the Master. And, if he had to remain in Tony's office countless hours until they left, Oscar would do it.

Now, if Tony had his way he would have sent the lesser demon back to Hell in a heartbeat—but he knew he could not. Oscar had been placed on Jack Kelly's case ever since the beginning, mainly because of his role as murderer, and that had been long before Tony had arrived on the scene. Although Tony was even smarter and even more selfish than Oscar, the two were damn near equals in this, in the handling of Jack's Devil's Curse… not that Tony would ever enlighten Oscar to that fact. He _was _the stronger of the two, too; he was not about to give in to the likes of Oscar Delancey.

So, though Oscar had finally emerged from the shadows and had approached Tony's desk, Tony pretended that the other being was not present. He had enough on his mind as it was, what with the time to meet with Ariadne Cearr growing ever closer; he did not need Delancey fouling things up for him.

He did, however, glance over at Oscar out of the corner of one of his falsely-colored eyes. Oscar was standing there, his old and dusty bowler hat clutched grubbily between two dirty hands, looking wildly around him. His eyes were not a human color; he was wearing the demon fire eyes and they were blazing.

Tony snorted to himself. _And Delancey wonders why he's never been promoted to walking round and working over the Mortal Realm_...

Oscar, Tony knew, insisted on sporting the fire with pride and wearing his old clothing out of stubbornness—Tony had the suspicion that that nasty, dirty hat was the same one Oscar wore when he was still alive—but he did not know how to pass for human. Tony, on the other hand, had perfected the adoption of a faux human life; he had the office, the money, the would-be girlfriend…

Still pretending to be working on nonsense paperwork, Tony allowed himself a devious smile. If he had not been working for the Master for nearly seventy-five years, he might have felt a twinge of pity for the woman. She devoted her life to a specter who was oblivious to anything but the guilt he felt for letting his childhood sweetheart get murdered. And now, just as she began to share what little was left of her wasted life, she chose to share it with a disguised demon and a Devil-marked kid.

Doomed, they all were. And it was so very tempting to know that the poor, broken woman was probably the most doomed of them all.

"What the—"

Tony's thoughts were cut off when Oscar spoke up again. His voice was sharp but stopped almost as quickly as it began, and his head, no longer searching out something that Tony did not see, bowed into his chest. He took a deep and unnecessary breath before lifting it up and looking down at the man sitting at the desk.

"C'mon, Tone," he said, "what _was _that?" There was a tinge of fear to his gravely tones—something that Tony heard and, despite his better judgment, responded to. That was not something he would have done if he had been paying attention to Delancey but, since he was not, the allure of unadulterated fear ensnared his senses. To the Devil's man, fear was an addiction, one he fed off of; it was enticing and satisfying, even if he did not know, nor care, what the source of it was.

Licking his lips once, Tony realized that he was not going to be awarded peace and quiet until it was time to leave—not if Oscar was still around. Glaring fiercely at the taller man, daring him to offer a lame excuse to his next question, Tony snapped, "What are you going on about, Delancey?"

"You didn't feel that?"

"Feel what?" He was annoyed and the short way he replied was enough to warn Oscar of that fact. But, if Tony expected Oscar to drop the subject because it annoyed him, he was mistaken.

"That. There it was again." He shuddered and his fiery red eyes dimmed. "It feels like… like…I don't know, it's weird and it hurts real bad. I feel like something's gone wrong, like—" Oscar paused and gulped. His eyes flared up, the pitch-black pupils appearing to be licked by the now-bright flame, as his frame shook. His hat fell from his hand as he realized, "Shit, Tony. She knows"

Tony had to fight back a yawn at Oscar's theatrics. He nodded at the fallen hat—Oscar hurriedly picked it up, his hands shaking as he did so—before irritably drumming his fingertips against the desktop. "I'm afraid I'm still not following you, Delancey."

It was a lie, of course. He had known, almost as soon as Diana had, that the truth had finally been revealed—or, at least, _most_ of the truth. The Devil was a tricky being and when he offered a soul's freedom in return for learning a truth, he intended that the _entire _truth be discovered. And, fortunately for their side—and unfortunately for the other—there was still more to it. And Tony… it was his job to make sure it was never uncovered; that was, after all, his purpose in the whole scheme.

However, like everything else that Tony kept close to him, that was not something that Oscar Delancey need worry his simple mind over; Oscar only needed to know what Tony deemed he know and, just then, that was not much. Besides, it was entertaining to watch one of his old foes—a young man he witnessed terrorize much smaller victims when they were both alive—struggle with his own fear.

So, rather than enlighten the lesser demon to Tony's overall plan, he let Oscar flounder for a few moments longer.

And, because Tony knew Oscar and his habits probably better than Oscar would like, Oscar proceeded to act just the way that Tony expected him to do: namely, panicky.

"Tony, I'm not playing. The Mason brat, she knows I killed that damn Rhian girl." Long, thin fingers were clutching the hat, absently kneading the brim of the battered old bowler. "Tony, she knows. What are we going to do? Master's gonna _flame_ us for this."

It made sense that the Devil's reaction was what Oscar feared most and, if Tony was not clever enough to realize that the game was not over yet, Tony might have been prone to agree that Diana's new knowledge was something to fret over. But the truth was that he _did _know; he allowed a flicker of a grin to cross his face as he coldly eyed Oscar.

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean, why? Because we messed up, Tony. We lost the souls that the Master wanted, that's why." The demon was so upset that his body temperature was rising; there was steam coming off of his fingertips and Tony could smell the sizzle of something burning before realizing that the old hat was on fire.

Tony sighed and snapped his fingers. Oscar yelped as he dropped his hat the second time; the edge of the bowler was coated in a thick sheet of black ice and it burned. "Calm down, Delancey," Tony ordered, "and think things over before opening your big mouth, you imbecile." He laced his words with a wave of black magic, quickly growing tired of Oscar. It was not so humorous anymore.

He waited a second, curious to see whether or not his subordinate would have a retort for his harsh demand, and was not surprised to see that Oscar was scowling at him; he would not expect anything less from the young man. But Oscar knew better than to talk back; he was currently satisfied with just scowling.

_Good, _Tony thought to himself, _maybe now he'll listen for once_. He shoved those worthless papers to the side—what Oscar would have given to know that they were just printouts of random newspaper articles following the period shortly after his death in 1924 up until the present year—and folded his hands in front of him. "Seriously. Do you think that, if that silly little girl knew the truth, we'd still be here? That the Master wouldn't have already summoned us back to Hell?"

Both valid points but, nevertheless, Oscar had exchanged his scowl for a skeptical look. "But, Tone, she knows. I can tell that she knows I did it."

"Well, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but—"

Tony shook his head. "So she knows that some stupid kid pulled a stupid stunt and killed another stupid kid," he said airily, conveniently forgetting that that second stupid kid he mentioned had been a friend of his when he had been alive. After all this time being mixed up in Jack's Devil's Curse, Stress Rhian became more of a nuisance to the former newsboy than an old friend, and she was not the only one; the part of Anthony Higgins that reveled in working for the Lord of Hell could not wait to finally admit to Jack Kelly his role in the whole ordeal. "It ain't like she's figured it _all _out, right?"

Oscar still looked hesitant. "I don't know. How much more is lef—"

Slamming his open palms against the top of his desk, Tony stood up and interrupted Oscar. "Enough, there's enough left. And I told you, Delancey, that I have it all figured out. So the kid figured out that you knifed Stress, oh well. It wasn't that hard to figure out, you know. It ain't like you were Jack the Ripper or something, and the Mason girl was Sherlock Holmes," he sneered, his handsome face twisted. In his frustration and annoyance at Oscar's stupidity, Tony's eyes were nothing but a pit of flames. "She got lucky, that's all. But luck ain't worth shit to a gambler. It's all about skill and I got that."

The two faced off, Tony glaring and Oscar taken aback at the ferocity of the smaller man's stare, before Oscar lowered his gaze and Tony let out a rough sigh. In control once again—and mildly irritated that he had let Oscar Delancey set him off—Tony removed his hand from the desk, ignoring the handprints that had been etched into the expensive wood, and straightened his silk tie.

"Yes, well," Tony began, before pausing to slick back his grey-streaked black hair, "like I was saying, it ain't over just yet. I told you yesterday, Delancey. I'm going to the building tonight and I'm going to end this." Oscar started to say something but Tony ignored him as he continued to speak, "The only thing that this revelation means to me is that there's no room for mistakes. You want to help in this, you do exactly what I say. Exactly."

Oscar did not miss the emphasis on the word 'exactly', nor did he miss the power that Tony had exuded when uttering that word, but, either way, he did not care. After voicing his suspicions and his worries, he was—though he'd never admit it—amazed that Tony was allowing him the opportunity to help in retrieving the marked souls. He had planned on occupying the other demon on his trip to the building, whether Tony wanted him to or not, but it made it much easier to have Tony invite him along.

So, he agreed. "Okay, Tone." He tried to sound as friendly as he possibly could and, considering the only friend he had ever had had been his brother, it fell flat.

But Tony did not care. The only thing he was interested in was Oscar's agreeing to their verbal contract. While it was not the best idea to include Oscar Delancey in his plotting, Oscar was the only help he could get. And, if he wanted to pull any of his plans off without a hitch, he would need _some _help.

"Good." Slowly, Tony took his seat at the desk before pulling some papers back in front of him. The way he saw it, there was still an hour or two to go before he had to arrive over at Duane Street. "Good."

If Jack Kelly was as predictable as he had always been, the two demons would not need to be there just yet.

--

There was only enough time to register the tight grip of Jack's hand followed by sudden impenetrable darkness. She had been expecting his tug to pull her through the brick wall and back out onto the street and, when the darkness settled over her, she felt a sudden urge to panic.

That urge—as well as the darkness—only lasted for a few seconds before Diana found herself standing on the corner of Duane Street. She did not notice where she was straight away; instead, she was preoccupied with trying not to get sick. Her head was spinning and her stomach felt heavy.

She swallowed once, trying to push down any bile that was threatening to rise, before looking around her. Diana recognized the large building that stood at the opposite end of the street, as well as the strange disoriented feeling that she had experienced only once before and knew what had happened. She turned to glare accusingly at the ghost boy whose fingers were still holding onto her arm. "Jack, what the hell did you do?"

Jack drew his hand back and suavely lifted it up so that he could run his fingers through his greasy hair. "What? I told you we were going to pop on over to Ria's place. You thought we were gonna walk or something? Not this time."

"Yeah, well, couldn't you have warned me first? It feels so weird when you do that and, besides, we could have just taken Patrick's cab." _Patrick… _She had forgotten all about him for a second and felt guilty. Scowling, she quickly leaned over so that she could look past Jack. "Hey, um, Patrick? Are you okay?" She could only imagine how the supernatural trip had affected the cab driver; she had felt so nauseous the last time that Jack had used his ghost powers to transport her from his hideaway back to her aunt's apartment.

Diana was a little nervous to find that there was no response to her question. She shot a warning look over at Jack and, as she did so, she watched as Jack nonchalantly turned his body sideways, preventing Diana from seeing anything past him. She rolled her eyes and took a step away from Jack. "Patrick?"

There was no one else on the street.

Her head whipped around and, her fists balled up at her sides, she said, "Jack?"

The worry and nerves and pure anger were evident in her tone and Jack lost his winning smile. He knew he was in trouble. "Yeah?"

"Where's Patrick?"

"Patrick?" Jack repeated, feigning ignorance though there was an undeniable twinkle of mischievousness in his brown eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Patrick Conlon!" She lifted her hand up to what was around Patrick's height and snapped, "About this tall. Dirty blond hair, crazy blue eyes. Cab driver." Diana turned that hand into a fist and pointed her finger at him. "He was just with us, Jack, back at your place. Where is he?"

Jack made a great production of looking around him but, quite obviously, the other boy was not there. "I don't know. We must have lost him along the way."

"Lost him? Are you kidding? Find him!"

"Can't."

"Why the hell not?"

Jack looked away from her, dropping his gaze so that he was watching his right hand fiddle with the ends of his old, frayed rope belt. Only when he heard her stamp her foot in impatience did he offer her an answer. "'Cause I don't want to."

Diana huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, resigned. Grumbling under her breath she said, "You're impossible, Jack. He wanted to help, you know."

"I don't need his help. I got you."

She did not know if she should be flattered or frustrated just then and settled on being annoyed. "Jesus, Jack, what Patrick must think of me. First I get him lost on the way to your stupid bank, then I tell him that I can see dead people. Then I freak out in front of him and now, now I've lost him. Ugh," she said angrily, "he must think I'm freaking crazy."

Diana shook her head and dropped her hands down to her side as something just occurred to her. "And you! What's wrong with you, Jack? I figured out who killed your girlfriend and you haven't said nothing about that yet. I thought you would have been turning cartwheels or something to know who murdered her."

Jack froze and the ends of the rope slid out of his fingers. He lifted his head up slowly and, when he had met her eye, she could see that he was serious; he was no longer kidding around. "It's not over yet, kid. So Oscar did it… I kinda always knew that, you know? The second you told me that, it just fit—but nothing's different. She's still not back and me, I'm still here. There's more to it. I can't let myself get excited just cause I know who did it. I don't know why, for starters. And, I don't know, there's gotta be more to it. Right? So now we're here, me and you, and we still got a month to figure out what that more is."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

There were a few seconds of awkward silence before Jack just started to walk away from Diana and towards Ariadne's building. He took a few steps and, when he did not hear Diana following behind him, he called back to her, "Well, are you coming or not?"

"Look, Jack."

She had not moved from the corner, instead, Diana was pointing at something behind him. Whirling around, he looked to see what it was and groaned inwardly when he spied a yellow taxicab parked at the curb, right in front of No. 9 Duane. Before he could stop himself, he said, "What is he doing here?"

"Good question," Diana said as she hurried over to Jack's side. She looked confused yet elated. "That's Patrick's cab. I remember how it had the big forty-seven on the side, just like that one. But how did he get here so fast, Jack? We just arrived and you're a _ghost_."

Jack was too busy staring at the offending cab to answer Diana's question so the girl continued speaking; this time, when she spoke, her voice was even more suspicious than it had been before. "Wait a second… what time is it?" Just like how she had recognized the disoriented feeling from that time that Jack had magically moved her from one side of Manhattan to another, Diana just remembered how she had lost three hours in that one trip; when she had left Jack, it had been after six but, when she arrived on Duane Street, it had been close to nine.

How much time did we lose now? Is Aunt Ria home already? Is Tony Higgins already over? And what about Patrick? How long has he been here? Oh boy…

Since Jack did not wear a watch, he was no help to her but that was all right, considering he was still ignoring her. She rolled her eyes as she reached into the pocket of her pants and removed her cell phone. The neon green screen read that it was 6:23. Groaning to herself, she shoved her cell phone back in that same pocket as she tried to figure out how many hours had passed since leaving Jack's nook. But all that paled in comparison to what the late hour really meant to her.

_Aunt Ria should be home. Crap. I bet Tony's already here, too. _

Hoping that Jack was tangible, Diana took the initiative to grab his arm and hurry down the rest of Duane, using the little strength she possessed to pull the ghost boy behind her. As soon as his form had been jerked, Jack returned his attention to Diana, rather than glaring at the vehicle that had carried Patrick Conlon back into his Curse. He shook his head quickly, all the while allowing Diana to drag him forward. "Where's the fire, kid?"

As soon as she heard his voice Diana let go of him while still hurrying onward herself. "Come on, Jack. I didn't realize how late it was. We have to go."

Jack shrugged and, since he had no concept of time except for how long it was until Oscar's newest deadline came, followed her. He was as anxious as she was to get to the bottom of this all—more, obviously—but that did not mean that he cared to run like that. He had had enough of running when he was alive.

Without a word to the doorman Diana ran straight into the building, Jack lagging behind her. He would never admit that his magic stores had been drained even further with his relocation of the two of them, or that his energy was low, but he did wish that the girl would just slow down.

Just as Diana reached the elevators, he got his wish.

Jack assumed that she had stopped because the elevator was not working yet but that was not the case; the door was wide open, with Diana standing just outside of its inviting doors. Her back was against the solid wall, her hand was held up to her throat and she was breathing heavily. A smart comment died on his lips as he saw how the state she was in after so short a mad dash. "Kid, you okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah," she said, sounding as if she were trying to hide the fact that she was panting. She lowered her hand and smiled weakly over at him. "I'm sorry, my fault. I just got a little winded, I guess."

Jack was not too sure he believed that. A master liar could always spot an amateur and he could tell there was something more to it than that; however, he did not feel the need to push it. Instead, he stepped into the elevator. "Then let's go."

Diana nodded and, despite her earlier speed, stepped cautiously into the small room. She reached forward and selected the penthouse floor as their destination. As soon as the elevator doors had closed, and she could feel the room rising up through the various floors of the building, she took as deep a breath as she could muster, and then another. It was strange, this feeling of being smothered, and it had come on so suddenly that she felt as if she were imagining it.

_I'm fine_, she told herself as the elevator continued on its ascent, _just a little tired, that's all. It's been a long day…_

There was a tiny tingle of pain that emanated from her throat and she rubbed it briefly, waiting for the elevator to chime that they had arrived at the top floor of the building. The strangling feeling seemed to subside as her fingers ran over her skin and she was beginning to feel silly for looking so weak in front of Jack. As it was, she could feel the heat of his curious gaze on her as she purposely looked everywhere and anywhere in the tiny, closed room but at him.

The elevator ride seemed to last an eternity to the girl and she was relieved when the doors finally opened. "Okay, Jack, we're here. Let's go."

"You can't go in, Kelly."

Though she knew the voice immediately, the harsh tone was not one she was accustomed to and it took Diana actually seeing Alfred Kloppman standing in the hallway that separated the elevator from the front door to understand that it _was _him. He was standing there, blocking the entry to the penthouse apartment, his head shaking slightly at the sight of Diana and Jack.

"Mr. Kloppman," she said as she began to greet him but the rest of her words were caught off by a rather sudden and violent cough. The strange sensation of mild asphyxiation returned at once and she struggled to catch her breath again. When she had, she swallowed weakly and said, "What's wrong?"

The old man did not answer her; he was too busy eyeing Jack. Rather than reply to Diana's question, he just repeated himself, firmer this time. "You can't go in, Kelly."

Diana turned to look at Jack. He had stopped right outside of the elevator and he was now staring over at Kloppman. She saw him distinctly breathe in deeply before his nose twitched and his face sneered. "Why the hell not?"

Kloppman did not move, though he did give a slight start when Jack used the word 'hell'. "The game's changed. You've got your one Daite girl, that's all you get. You don't get anymore. You're not welcome in the building, either, you've got to get out of here."

As if this tense standoff was a fierce tennis match, Diana found herself looking back at Jack. The ghost boy had not lost his sneer. "Oh, yeah? Is that right?"

"You heard me, boy. Leave the girl here and go."

Just as Kloppman had seemed bothered at the mention of Hell, Jack's brown eyes seemed to flash. He took one step forward. "Leave her out of it," he ordered, his right hand shaking as he pointed at the butler.

Diana was frightened but she could not find the right words to express it; her head was growing heavy again and she continued to feel as if someone was slowly squeezing her throat, cutting off the amount of oxygen she could take in. However, when Kloppman had mentioned her and Jack had shot back in defense of her, Diana was irked and that was enough to entice her to speak. "What's…what's going on?" she asked and, just like when she was leaning up against the lobby wall, it sounded as if she was panting again.

It was quiet following her question though both Kloppman and Jack's attention were on her. The butler wore a vaguely triumphant expression as something akin to understanding seemed to dawn on the ghost boy's face.

"Answer the girl, Kelly," Kloppman barked, sounding authoritative but in a manner unlike any Diana had heard since coming to live in the apartment; she had always believed Kloppman to be a sweet and gentle old man. But this side of Kloppman—it was _him _who was scaring her more than anything.

Diana was not sure if Jack was going to do what Kloppman ordered—she would not have been surprised if he had ignored the old man; Jack Kelly, she knew, was not the sort to do what anyone told him—but the desire to know what had brought about this sudden change in personality of the two of them was nowhere near as strong as her need to get a good, deep breath.

Maybe, then, that was why, when Jack actually gave an answer, it did not surprise her as much as it should have.

"Nothing," he said angrily, glaring at Kloppman before turning a much softer eye on Diana. "Nothing…" he repeated, lowering his voice considerably. "Listen, I—I can't be here right now," there was a second, much fiercer glare in the old butler's direction, "so I… I gotta go. But I'll be fine, kid," Jack said, and Diana could see how much it cost him to lie to her like that. There were beads of sweat popping out on his forehead and that right hand of his was still trembling. "Find out what you can for me and then we'll talk. Everything'll be fine."

"Sure, Jack." Diana was positive that she sounded as puzzled as she felt; she could not believe that he was not arguing with Kloppman over this sudden rule. They had seemed so close before every time she saw them together—enough to make Diana wonder just _what_ their relationship was—but now… the two men before her were acting as if they were sworn enemies.

Jack shrugged his shoulders simply before reaching behind him and grabbing at the slightly crushed cowboy hat that hung down his back. He got it in his hand and, in one fluid motion, picked it up and dropped it on his head, hiding his face from sight. "I'll be seeing you. Be sure of it."

Kloppman nodded sharply at Jack, his glasses sliding down his nose with the force of the severe action. There was no benign smile on the wrinkled face and Diana could see that his red eyes were narrowed in dislike.

_Wait… _red _eyes? What the— _

Diana did a double take before looking at Kloppman a second time. There was no doubt about—the eyes that were sparkling from behind the readjusted glasses were most definitely blue.

_Okay, maybe I need some sleep. Or, at least, to lay down… my head is killing me, my throat hurts and now I'm seeing things… great. _

"Of course, Kelly," Kloppman replied before turning his back on Jack and fiddling with the front door to the apartment. He gave Jack just enough time to lift his hat up so that he could wink once at Diana—confusing her even more, since that sly wink was at odds with the anger that he had been exuding—before disappearing with a _pop; _as soon as Jack was gone, Kloppman opened the door and turned around.

He waved at the open door, gesturing for Diana to go on inside. "Let's go, Diana. Your aunt's been expecting you and I'd hate to see Ria upset. Really."

Diana started to nod but the simple movement of her head was enough to increase the strange feeling that she was being smothered. She brought her hand back up to her throat and, this time, noticed that the old chain she had put on earlier that morning had moved; instead of sitting at the base of her neck, it had risen and was tightly encircling her narrow throat.

The necklace _was _strangling her. She _was _being asphyxiated.

Automatically reached her fingers behind her so that she could remove the chain, Diana ignored Kloppman. But the old butler did not seem to appreciate that and, as soon as Diana had moved her hand behind her, Kloppman reached out his and clasped hers. "There's no time to dawdle. Let's go."

Once Kloppman had made contact with her skin Diana felt the necklace shrink considerably more and her breath was caught in her throat. She struggled to free her hand from his, even going so far as to bump into him so that he would drop her hand. Luckily for her, he did; that was not, however, because she had bumped him. It was because he had noticed the trouble she was having breathing.

"Hey… are you alright?" Kloppman removed his wrinkled hand from Diana's and, using his pointer finger, poked her in her upper arm. "You're looking funny, girlie."

She tried to spit out an answer but, when she opened her mouth, the necklace continued to tighten; it was choking her even more. All she could offer was a half-nod as her hands continued to work at the clasp behind her and her feet hurried her away, leaving the confused old butler back in the hallway.

As her attention was solely on the way that the seemingly harmless silver chain was currently strangling her, the girl did not even realize what her feet were doing. Working almost by themselves, her sneaker-ed feet were hurrying her towards the bathroom. She slipped inside the room and closed the door, her fingers hard at work at trying to unfasten the chain.

It was getting dark, but whether that was from the frantic, panicked sensation or the lack of oxygen reaching her brain, she did not know. What she did know, however, was that she needed to get the ever-tightening chain off of her neck; if she could not do that, she knew she was done for.

And to think that she had considered the trinket a _lucky _charm when she found it…

There was a moment of relief when her trembling fingers finally undid the clasp and the necklace went slack. She ripped the offending chain from her neck and threw it next to the sink so that it could not attempt to strangle her again.

Bracing her hands against the bathroom counter, Diana took in great gulping breaths of air as her knees shook, knocking together. There was a buzz in her head; she was incredibly light-headed and did not even notice whether or not the necklace had actually shrunk enough to cut off her wind passage.

Tears sprang to her eyes but she ignored them; her hands went clammy and she could almost swear that the previous seventeen-plus years of her life had flashed before her eyes. It had been that frightening for the girl, she was still in shock that something so strange could just happen.

As soon as Diana had gotten her breath back and she was just about ready to pick up the chain and toss it in the toilet, she released her grip on the counter's edges. All thoughts of Jack and of Patrick and of the Devil's Curse were gone from her mind; her mind was focused on getting a drink for her sore throat and getting rid of the damn thing that had caused the injury.

That is, until she lifted her head and happened to glance in the mirror.

She gasped and reached her hands out towards the glass, as if she could touch the person trapped within.

"Stress?"


	57. LVII

Author's Note: _I was going to pretend like it hasn't been… let's see, almost five months since I've updated this… but I can't do that. I could offer quite a few reasons why it's so late—NaNoWriMo being one of the ones why this is done now and not in November—but there's really not much to say. I can tell you why it first got shafted (a boy), why I didn't have the heart to continue it for awhile (a boy), and why it took me forever to write this chapter (Severe Writer's Block, so bad it gets capital letters). I also spent December editing and reformatting the first half of Diabo so I could have it printed for my mom for Christmas… but now—now I'm back. My New Year's resolution is to finish Diabo, Pick Your Poison and Never Enough before even thinking about starting another fic. Anywho, that's enough of that. Here's chapter 57—enjoy it!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

January 3, 2008

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

--

PART FIFTY SEVEN

--

There was no doubt about it. Despite the haziness of the mirror's reflection, Diana recognized the girl—but only just.

Her face had, as possible as it was for one who was dead, grown even paler than before, with dark, heavy circles under her dim golden eyes. Long, curly hair—once wild, now tame—hung limply over her shoulders; she looked thinner than before. Sickly, almost. And not to mention strange.

Stress's lips were thin and drawn, colorless, though there was a hint of a familiar smile stretching them across her ghostly face. If anything, she looked glad to see Diana. "That's my name," she said wearily, her voice quieter and much hoarser than Diana remembered. "How are ya?"

Diana did not reach for the glass; she moved her hands, spreading her arms wider apart so that she could brace herself against the bathroom wall. Then, with her nose mere inches from the mirror, she repeated, "Stress?" As if she couldn't believe what she was seeing, Diana stared. "That—that you?"

She didn't stare for long; it was too eerie to gaze at the other girl. Shaking her head, Diana pushed away from the wall. "No," she said, momentarily forgetting _everything_ except for what was currently happening—like meeting the dead girl, face-to-face (with only a mirror standing between) for the first time in… in how long? Days? "No… I mean, what happened to you? You look—" She froze then, unsure of how to finish her sentence. None of the words that sprang to mind seemed appropriate.

"Dead?" Stress offered, raising one of her eyebrows knowingly.

"No… well, yes. Yes, dead but—" Diana paused again, struggling to say what she meant. She couldn't and settled for assuming that Stress would know what she was trying to get across. "You know what I mean. You just… you don't look how you did last time."

"I don't, do I?" Dropping her eyes so that she was looking down at herself, Stress sighed. She lost any and all of her inherent humor, a frown coming to her face. "It's to be expected, you know."

Diana was confused. "Actually, I _don't _know." Following Stress's example, she frowned. "And where've you been, anyhow? You haven't been… I mean… You were—" Diana shook her head, deciding against finishing her statement, "—is everything alright?"

There was a pause. And then, "It was."

"But…"

There was a flicker of a grin before Stress's frown returned. She looked tired as she gave a tiny jerk of her head. "You found the necklace, Diana."

_The necklace?_

Diana looked down at the tiny, tarnished silver chain that had been tossed off to the side. It was lying there, innocently and harmlessly, as if it had not just attempted to asphyxiate her. She did not reach for it; instead, she glanced back up and met Stress's heavy gaze.

"That necklace?" she asked, knowing full well that the chain was the one that Stress was referring to—what she did not know was what that had to do with anything. "Yeah, I found it. It was in the dresser drawer in my room."

"So that's where it got off to," the dead girl murmured to herself, turning away from Diana for a moment. She nodded to herself once, twice, before letting out a deep (and unnecessary) breath. Then, addressing Diana, she told her, "That necklace… that thing there… that's the reason why you couldn't hear me… see me."

Diana's eyes immediately turned back to the chain. Perhaps it was her imagination, or perhaps she was remembering how it felt to slowly feel her breath being squeezed out of her throat, but it no longer looked as charming as she had initially thought. It appeared… vengeful. Tragic, almost.

Cursed.

Her stomach started to twinge—partly out of nerves, partly out of fear—and the sensation was nothing like the ones she had known upon meeting up with Patrick that afternoon. It was discomfort, faint but clear, and she swallowed once in an attempt to quell the feeling. It didn't work.

With a grimace on her face, Diana glanced back up at the mirror. For one of the first times ever she was grateful to find a reflection that was not her own; she was not too interested in seeing how she would appear in the glass. She was sure she looked a mess. Worse than Stress even.

"What do you mean? I don't get it. The necklace… it made you invisible? What? How?"

"Invisible," Stress repeated, trying to get a feel for the word. After deciding that the word was as good as any to describe her situation, she said, "I guess you could say that. That necklace… it's kinda important. When you got your hands on it, that was enough to shut me up. It soaked up my energy… like a sponge, almost. A magical sponge."

Diana pointed at the chain. "Silver quiets the supernatural?" she asked, wondering if that was what Stress had meant. If so, then the devious, mischievous part of her was already subconsciously planning some great tricks she could play on Jack should the pair of them be stuck together for the rest of the summer. All she would need was some rope, a pair of silver handcuffs and some Tabasco sauce…

But Stress's answer cut any of those plans short. Looking almost bewildered at Diana's assumption, she told the other girl, "No. But that silver necklace works like that on me." She shook her head, her limp curls barely moving with the gesture. "You see, Diana, that's… that's _my _necklace," she confessed, sadness written in her eyes. "Or, at least, it _was _mine. I used to wear it all the time back when…"

She let her statement trail to a close before taking in another (and equally as unnecessary) deep breath. "The necklace called out to you, didn't it?" Without waiting for affirmation, she continued, "It wanted to be worn and you wore it. And because you put it on I… I disappeared. It was too much for me but then you took it off. You took the chain off and I came back."

Diana barely had enough time to register what Stress said before her consciousness took her back to that morning—that morning when, after her shirt moved and the necklace she was wearing was revealed to Jack, the ghost boy had accosted her… all over that damn necklace.

"Where did you get that?" he had asked her, staring at her as if she had committed some sort of horrible, nameless crime, before reaching out and trying to yank the chain right off of her neck. The sight of the simple chain had been enough to incite him into a wind whipping frenzy and it was, she remembered, the very reason he had stormed off on her that morning.

_No wonder Jack freaked out when he saw me wearing this thing—it's hers!_

And, all of a sudden, it made sense—or, at least, as much as it could. It was difficult for her to grasp the concept that a simple necklace could be so powerful as to quiet the spirit that was part of her. But, then again, was it any more difficult than understanding that a simple necklace had been able to start choking her?

At least she knew why it looked so old now…

"Oh."

"Yeah," Stress agreed, looking even further drained than she had when she first appeared. Drained and far more sorrowful. "Oh."

Diana held up her hand then. All understanding aside, there was something—one thing that bothered her about what Stress's words implied. "Wait a sec—if that's your necklace, and you died almost a hundred years ago," she said bluntly; Stress didn't even flinch at the harsh, inquisitive tone, "then how did it get in my Aunt Ria's apartment?"

"I don't know, really. I can tell you that I was sure wearin' it when I died but, excuse me, I don't remember much after that. Except for—"

"Oh my god," Diana said suddenly, her eyes widening as she remembered—_how could I have forgotten?_—the discovery that she and Jack had made only hours ago. It did not even occur to her that she interrupted Stress or stopped the dead girl from giving any sort of information that might be necessary; she had something far more important to share just then. "I can't believe I almost forgot!"

Stress didn't seem to be bothered by Diana's interruption at all; in fact, she just looked interested. "Forgot what?"

"I know who killed you!"

She just couldn't understand how the knowledge that Oscar was Stress's murderer had slipped her mind and, if it wouldn't have hurt so much, she would have slapped her head in recognition of her own ineptitude. Telling Stress the truth was what she had wanted to do right after waking up from her last vision—and she had but there hadn't been a response; she now knew why but still…—and, now that she remembered about it, she couldn't wait to hear what Stress had to say to the news.

Maybe the news would be enough to make her more like the Stress Diana had first met; maybe it would be enough of a memory jolt to help the dead girl remember her own past; maybe it would at least make her feel more useful that she had done something right…

In fact, Diana was so curious, so anxious, that she didn't even wait for Stress to come up with an answer to her pronouncement. She just couldn't wait—she had to tell her… so she did.

"Oscar Delancey, Stress. He did it."

_There_, she thought, satisfied with herself in anticipation of what Stress's reaction would be, _at least they both know now…_

But what the girl had to say was most definitely _not _what Diana was expecting. It, also, was enough to knock that self-satisfied smirk right off of the teenager's face.

"I know."

It took Diana a second to comprehend those two simple words, _I know_, but, when she did, she pointed her finger accusingly at Stress. "What does that mean? 'I know'. What the—" She stopped, her lips spluttering wordlessly as she tried to come up with words to summarize her annoyance.

There weren't any readily available and she settled for scowling as she lowered her voice; she recognized that she had been yelling and if there was one thing she didn't want, it was someone coming to the bathroom to check up on her.

Huffing while she scowled, she said, "You know, between you knowing who killed you and Jack knowing who killed you, I don't have any idea why my stupid family got dragged into this whole stupid mess. This is… this is ridiculous!"

The sudden and fleeting mention of Jack Kelly was the first time during their conversation that Diana got any sort of visible reaction out of Stress. Her golden eyes seemed to light up—but only for an instance—and a touch of a reddish hue found its way to her wan cheeks. "Jack," she murmured, her lips wrapping around the single word as if it were a melody. She did not say anything about the rest of Diana's accusations or complaints; it was almost as if she hadn't heard them.

"Yeah, Jack." Diana's tone changed considerably; rather than the strangled voice of one (just barely) controlling their temper, her voice was much softer, more concerned. And just a tad bit guilty.

Biting her lip while wrapping her right arm around her torso in a self-comforting gesture, Diana remembered how the ghost boy had been acting right before they were separated. He had seemed so certain that something was wrong; even so, he had seemed just as certain that Diana not know about it.

The very way he had addressed Kloppman, the very way he had said goodbye to her… there was something more to it and, in the aftermath of the strange chain strangling her, she had forgotten about it.

But not now.

For a moment, she wondered if she should tell Stress about it. Deciding against it—if only because, really, there was nothing for the dead girl to do and, besides, she looked, well, _dead _enough that Diana didn't have the heart to add to her worries—Diana let her hand fall back to her side.

She attempted s smile. It was slightly off-putting, especially considering she had been upset at Stress only minutes ago, but she tried to make it as realistic as possible. "Okay, Stress," she said, her voice even calmer than before, "I know who… killed you, and so does Jack. Do you know what happens now? Or—"

"Or is there more to it?" Stress said, interrupting Diana. The dreamy, light-hearted expression was gone; a tough, calculated—albeit exhausted—expression took its place.

Diana nodded. Those were the exact words she was going to say—they were the words Jack had said himself. "Yeah."

"There's more to it," Stress admitted shortly. "Not much, you know, but enough."

"Like what?"

If Diana thought that Stress would be able to open up to her entirely now that the identity of her murderer was known, she was wrong. It was wishful thinking and nothing more.

"I can't really say, it's part of the Dev—" She stopped talking, her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. Frowning again, she asked Diana, "Do you… do you feel that?"

Confused again, Diana shook her head slowly. The only thing she could feel was her unsettled stomach and the ring of pain around her throat, nothing else. Or, at least, nothing that Stress would be able to feel, too. "Feel what? I don't feel anything."

Stress did not answer her. Closing her eyes so that only a sliver remained, the dead girl waited. For what, Diana had no idea, but she figured it would be a good idea to wait, too.

Neither girl had long to wait. Shortly after she cut herself off, Stress opened her eyes and offered a vague sort of a pout. "For a second there I thought…" She shook her head again, obviously deciding that it wasn't important. "Never mind that, anyway… what was I sayin' again?"

"You were saying that there was more to it all, that just knowing who the murderer is isn't enough," Diana reminded her.

"Yeah…" She sighed and moved her shoulders up and down in an apologetic motion. "The Devil is a tricky bastard," she said plaintively, every sign of her remorse genuine, "and he's set up his little… game here so that he's gonna win. But," the girl added, her tone becoming progressively happier and a touch smarmier, "there's a trick or two still up my sleeve and, with you, Diana, I think we got it made. As long as you don't put that necklace back on again, that is."

Silently telling herself that she'd rather sit with Jack and look at every single picture in his collection rather than don that chain again, Diana picked up on the change in Stress's voice. It unnerved her a bit, the way that the girl on the other side of the mirror seemed to have a plan—a plan that, at the very least, involved the two of them.

"What do we have to do?" she asked.

"Simple. We've gotta find the other man… you've gotta get to him. He's the key to it all."

"What other man?" Diana returned, once again nibbling on the bottom of her lip. Though she was, first and foremost, inquisitive and curious, something about the way that Stress said that made her nervous—she had a pretty good idea that whoever this 'other man' was, it was someone she did _not _want to meet.

Unless, of course, it was one she'd already met…

"I think you know."

Diana groaned inwardly. _I was afraid she'd say that._

Shaking her head in quasi-denial, Diana asked, "I do?" Her brain began to whirr and, partly because she wasn't really sure who Stress was referring to and partly because she didn't want to know who Stress was referring to, she began to toss out names of any of those men she knew could be (or were) involved in Jack's Curse. It took her a second—she had to get her mindset back in the past rather than the future—but, before long, she started to spit out various names, hoping one of them would be the one Stress was hinting about.

"Is it Jack? Kloppman? Oscar? No," she corrected herself, "Not Oscar… how about that Spot Conlon? Or… what was that kid's name?" She snapped her fingers; Stress did not interrupt her yet. "That's it, David. Was it David?" When all Stress did was stare disbelievingly back at Diana, the girl knew she was way off track. But that was okay—she still had a couple of names left to throw out. "Maybe that Anthony guy… what did Jack call him?"

"Racetrack."

Diana nodded energetically, wagging her finger at Stress in gratitude. "Yeah, that was it. Racetr—"

"That man out there," Stress said, quietly and firmly, with her mouth drawn in a thin line, "may be many things but, I'll tell you this: he ain't Race no more."

"What man?" Ripping her head out of the late nineteenth century and the people who had lived then, Diana suddenly remembered who her aunt's dinner guest was for the evening. The strange feeling in her stomach grew even more intense; the pain in her neck seemed to pulse at the mere thought of that man. "Wait a minute, do you mean Tony?"

And then she remembered, she remembered the very words that Stress had said about the man the first time the two girls had come face to face: Watch out for Tony. I wish I could tell you more about him but I can't. You're going to have to figure that out on your own…

_I knew that man had to do something with this whole mess, I just knew it. But what? How is that Race guy's grandkid involved? Because he's got a thing for Aunt Ria? Or…_

Diana did not have an answer for that and, before she had the opportunity to try to ask the girl in the mirror, Stress had already responded to the first question.

"Tony, ha," the dead girl snorted. "The Devil's ma—" Her golden eyes widened suddenly and her sickly face twisted as if she were in immense pain. She shook her head urgently. "I can't… uh, damn, I gotta be goin', he's he—"

Stress's voice was cut off again, this time interrupted by a very abrupt knock that sounded at the bathroom door. Without really meaning to, Diana turned around and glanced at that door; out of the corner of her eye she saw Stress's reflection be replaced by that of her own.

She sighed, more out of continued confusion than out of disappointment or worry. _I don't know why I'm surprised…_

A second, louder knock returned her attention to the door, followed by the frantic turning of the brass knob. Whoever was out there wanted to get into the bathroom—and they wanted to get in there _now_.

Diana jumped slightly at the sound, the bottom of her stomach dropping out from beneath her; much—_all_—of what Stress had just told her was pushed to the back of her mind as she grappled with the surprise that the loud noise had caused her. The surprise, however, did not last long and it was quickly replaced with a sense of foolishness. She was acting like a child—after everything she had been through, she was still being jumpy and it bothered her. She shook her head.

There was, she knew, someone on the other side of the wooden door and there she was, locked in the bathroom, struggling to recover from being almost strangled, rattled by the sudden appearance and disappearance of the long dead Stress. The way things were going just then she would not have been surprised if Oscar Delancey himself was knocking at the door.

"Diana, dear? Is everything alright in there? Kloppman told me that you ran in here. He said you were ill. What's wrong?"

It was not Oscar, of course. The voice was clearly female, with a stern edge to it. Yet, it was a familiar voice—a safe voice. Ariadne Cearr had been around before Diana had ever heard the names Jack Kelly and Stress Rhian and the woman would, Diana believed, be there for her niece long after.

So, despite the continued ache that encircled her throat and the pain that troubled her stomach, Diana smiled. It was a smile of relief, one of ease. "Yes, Aunt Ria, I'm fine," she answered, calling through the still closed door. She turned the tap on, splashed some water on her face and her neck, and, out of habit, flushed the toilet before reaching for the doorknob, "I guess I just… just had some bad lunch or something. I'll be okay."

Her fingers had just brushed up against the brass knob when she felt an unnatural heat emanating from the metal, burning her very fingertips. Diana yanked her hand back, shaking it as she did so. She did not cry out but, once the shock of touching something so hot wore off, she called to her aunt again. "Aunt Ria? What's wrong with this door?"

There was a pause—Diana thought she heard some quiet muttering slip in under the door followed by a quick jingling of the knob—and then, "There's nothing wrong with it, Diana." She sounded concerned. "Are you sure you're fine? You're acting quite… odd."

I'm _acting odd? I'm not the one pretending like the stupid doorknob isn't burni—_

In the middle of her ranting thoughts, Diana daringly grabbed the door handle. Ariadne was right—there was nothing wrong with the door at all. It was cool to her touch; there was no sign that the metal had been scorching hot only seconds ago.

_Oh._

_Never mind._

"Never mind," she acquiesced as she slowly drew her hand back. She was positive that the brass knob had been radiating heat but now… now it was cool.

_What the…_

Shrugging her shoulders, Diana decided not to worry about it too much. She had seen much stranger things in the six days that she'd known Jack and she was almost positive, if she thought about it long enough, that there could be a perfectly normal explanation for such an occurrence. Besides, she had enough on her mind as it was—she didn't need anything more to preoccupy her; especially now that Stress had dashed her last hope that knowing Oscar was the murderer was enough.

_Tony… I have to go see Tony now… Fun…_

There was another knock at the bathroom door. "Are you coming out, Diana, or would you like me to come in there with you?"

Diana's immediate reaction was to turn around and look behind, making sure that there was no longer a specter haunting the mirror. All she saw when she glanced back was her own reflection—she looked as poorly as she had imagined; the ring around her neck was fading, at least, but she looked exhausted—and, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the silver chain she had tossed to the side.

Though she knew she would _never_ put that necklace on again, even if Stress had not warned her not to, Diana felt guilty about leaving it behind in her aunt's bathroom. Also, she was sure it would lead to quite a few unwanted questions if Ariadne (or Jack, for that matter) found it lying around.

In an effort to make sure that did not happen, Diana walked back over to the sink. Plucking a tissue from the tissue box that sat atop the toilet, Diana wrapped the chain in it, taking great care not to touch any of the semi-rusted links with her skin. Just in case.

Once wrapped up safely, Diana slipped the tissue into her pocket with the intent to place the damn thing back into the dresser in her bedroom. Then, after checking quickly once more to verify that Stress was not lingering in the mirror again, she hurriedly crossed the small room, opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

She very nearly collided with her aunt but Ariadne, who had been waiting just outside with her hands on her hips, stepped aside at just the precise moment. There was no contact between the two of them and Diana, aware that she had almost bumped into her aunt, paused, leaning up against the wall. She was so very tired, all of a sudden. And, unless she was imagining things, it had gotten very stuffy out there—it almost felt like she was being strangled again.

With a raised eyebrow, Ariadne looked over her niece. The girl looked entirely flustered, her face slightly pale and her eyes underlined with heavy bags. She made a quiet _tsk_ing noise with her tongue as she shook her head. If there had been time, she would have liked to have the young girl freshen up—but there wasn't any time; time was quickly growing short and Ariadne had to be satisfied with asking, just once more, just to make sure, "Diana, nothing's wrong, is it? You'd tell me, wouldn't you, dear?"

Diana turned her head so that she was looking her aunt in the eye. Ariadne's green eyes were gazing curiously at her but… but there seemed something different about them. They were glassy, almost; there was no sign of the decisiveness inherent to the woman written within their depths. It was eerie and she found that, despite the caring nature of the older woman's expression—the concern just didn't extend to her eyes—she couldn't look her in the face.

She turned her gaze downward, instead. "Of course, Aunt Ria. I told you, everything's fine. Just… just a bad lunch," she repeated, feeling quite guilty for lying to her. There was her aunt, waiting for her, concerned for her, and what was she doing? Lying to protect a ghost.

The quick thought of Jack gave her a minor pang—_I wonder what he's doing right now…_—but it did not compare to the sorrow her conscience was making her go through as she stood before Ariadne.

Ariadne had not even blinked yet as she stared down at the girl. It did not matter that she barely knew the girl; even the worse gambler could read a poker face like the one Diana had. She was lying; there was no doubt about that. She entertained the notion of calling the girl out on her lies but decided against. As she recalled earlier, there just wasn't any time.

However, that didn't mean she was not going to hold Diana accountable for eating up any of the time that there _had _been. It was even itchier now than before…

"Oh?" she said noncommittally. "A _late _lunch?"

The implications of that one emphasized word were not lost on Diana. She would not have thought it possible but her stomach dropped even more. She could feel the heat on her cheeks as an embarrassed (and guilty) blush arose. She did not need a watch to know how late it was—and there was no way that she was going to admit that she was late because of Jack Kelly's power.

But she did not lie again. There was no need to this time.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Ria," she apologized, still unable to look the woman in the eye. She looked down at the hallway carpet, pretending to be interesting in the pattern woven in the shag. "I don't know where the time went."

Diana sounded so apologetic and, strangely enough, _honest_, that Ariadne's hand moved before the rest of her was aware of the movement. She had reached out in an attempt to offer a comforting pat but, just as her palm was about to meet Diana's bare flesh, she caught herself and slowly drew it back.

So as not to look questionable, she quickly converted the motion from a comforting gesture to an unnecessary stroke. She used her hand to rub out an imaginary wrinkle from her pantsuits before turning her head away from Diana. Rather than look at the girl, she stared down the empty hallway.

"Yes, well," she began, her voice so chilly that only the memory of the strange now-it's-hot-now-it's-not doorknob kept Diana warm, "that's that, then." Ariadne gave a regal shake of her head, "Now, come along, Diana. That butler, I'm sure, is almost done with dinner and, besides, your guest has been waiting for you."

Diana, whose body was currently being flooded with absolute relief that her aunt was not going to press matters any further, lifted her head urgently.

_Guest?_ _My guest?_

Considering her mother had gone back home on Sunday night, and that she had not met anyone else in the city apart from a ghost, Diana had no idea who her aunt could be referring to. She doubted that Ariadne would call Tony Higgins her guest—who, then, was she bringing Diana to meet?

She did not ask, choosing to follow Ariadne wordlessly down the hallway instead. There was something different about the woman, she noticed, and she was mildly worried that her tardiness had angered her aunt. Ariadne did not seem angered, per se—she had dropped the subject as soon as Diana acknowledged that she _was _late—but something was… it just wasn't right.

_If… if Aunt Ria was so worried about me, then why did it take her so long to come to the bathroom? And, _she thought, taking the opportunity to glance down at the red calluses that were beginning to form on the tips of her fingers, _that doorknob _was _freaking hot. What was that about? I don't get it. It's weird, too, that Aunt Ria seems like she cares but, at the same time, it's almost like she can't be bothered… she just wants to make sure that everything is fine. That I'm okay. She doesn't even seem suspicious anymore, or curious. And why did she call Mr. Kloppman 'that butler'?_

Diana couldn't put her finger on it and that vague sensation that something wasn't right nagged at her as she followed Ariadne into the den. She wasn't too sure that she wanted to meet her guest but, when she heard her name, she was glad she had just followed her aunt into the room.

"Diana! Thank fucking God!"

There, getting to his feet urgently once he saw her enter the den, a relieved smile crossing his handsome face, stood Patrick Conlon.


	58. LVIII

Author's Note: _Well, like I've previously noted elsewhere, I'm really interested in getting my butt in gear and finishing off my old stories. Obviously, I finished off _Pick Your Poison _first and, even though I didn't mean to start a new fic(let), I'm halfway done with _Consumption_. Therefore, it's now time to get back to _Diabo_. And, as if we all need reminding, there's only two chapters left now. I really can't believe it but, then again, I guess I won't until I'm finally selecting the "complete" option and planning out the first chapter of the sequel ;) Until then, enjoy chapter 58!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

February 10, 2008

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

--

PART FIFTY EIGHT

--

As surprised and as pleased as Diana was to see Patrick, she could not help but turn her head slightly so that she could get a good look at her aunt's face. Knowing Ariadne, she was sure that Patrick's less than couth welcome was one that would not be acceptable.

But she was wrong.

Ariadne did not look angry or even annoyed by Patrick's rather loud greeting. Instead, there was a small smile on her face, her lips barely curved; it was the expression of one who understood a joke when no joke had been intended. A secretive smile, almost.

With the exception of that small, barely there smile, Ariadne appeared as she always did: prim, proper, composed. But, Diana could not help but noticing, something about her was just… off.

Curiously, Diana spared a further glance at her aunt. There really _was_ something different about the woman—she just couldn't put her finger on what. Even her clothes were in the same style as those she always seemed to wear, plus she was wearing those same flats she had donned the last time she was in the company of Tony…

_Tony, that's right. Where is he, anyway? Wasn't he supposed to be here, too? _

Taking her eyes off of her aunt, Diana looked around the room and shook her head. As far as she could tell, it was only her, Patrick and Ariadne in the den, no Tony, and that was a good thing. She would much rather prefer to spend the evening in the den with Patrick than sit with Ariadne and Tony and eat dinner.

And, besides, who was she to complain that Ariadne was not offended by Patrick's coarse language? Besides, she had more pressing matters to worry about—like Patrick, himself, for a start.

Leaving Ariadne's side, Diana hurried over to where Patrick was still standing, stopping only when she was about two feet in front of him. She was not sure how to greet him; a hug seemed too forward, a handshake too formal. She settled for holding her hands in front of her in what she hoped was a casual sort of pose. "Patrick," she said, a relieved grin crossing her flushed face; she really _was _glad to see him again, "what are you doing here?"

While Diana was slightly intimidated by his presence, Patrick had no trouble in deciding how to greet the girl. Rather than answer her question straight away, he shot both of his arms out, his strong hands grabbing onto Diana's outstretched wrists. With a quick tug he enveloped her into a hug. He seemed just as glad to see her as she was him.

It was a cozy moment and, in Patrick's embrace, it was easy for her to forget almost everything.

Including her aunt.

Ariadne made one of those prim little _hem hem_ noises in her throat, alerting her niece to her continued appearance in the den. Diana could feel an embarrassed blush rise as she slowly—and regretfully—drew back from Patrick before glancing over her shoulder.

She wondered vaguely if introductions were in order, considering Ariadne and Patrick had only met once before and that was when he was driving the taxi cab that took them back to Duane Street on Sunday. Then again, Diana had no idea how long Patrick had been waiting for her or what he and her aunt had talked about before she arrived…

Taking a deep breath, and willing her blush to recede, she said, "Aunt Ria, I'd like you to meet Patrick. He's a new… friend of mine."

There was a deep look of distrust now, so unlike the secretive smile of moments ago, etched on Ariadne's face as she turned to glare at Patrick. It was an expression that Diana had never seen her aunt wore and that realization nagged at the back of her head; even more now than before, she was convinced that something was wrong with Ariadne. She just hoped she would learn what it was before long.

She sniffed once before turning her nose up in the air. "We've met," she said, her tone icy and cold. If Diana did not know any better, she would think that Ariadne had it out for Patrick but—that couldn't be, could it? As far she knew, the pair of them, Patrick and Ariadne, had only met once before and then Ariadne had seemed thrilled at the prospect that the cab driver liked her niece.

Shaking her head royally, Ariadne changed the subject entirely; so abrupt was the change that she was not even bothering hiding the fact that that was what she was doing. "Diana, I thought I would leave you with your," she paused and then sneered, "young man. Dinner will be ready shortly. If you need me, I will be with Kloppy in the kitchen." And, with that, she turned and left.

So concerned with the way Ariadne was acting, she did not even notice it when her aunt referred to the old butler as Kloppy; it was a nickname that she had only ever heard Jack call the old man and, while it sounded odd coming from Ariadne, it was nowhere near as odd as the way she was speaking to Diana's guest.

Turning towards Patrick with the intent to apologize for her aunt's rudeness, she watched as Patrick stared at the woman's retreating back. With a mock salute, Patrick nodded towards her. "Nice to meet you, too," he muttered before plopping back down on the sofa.

And, as he had grabbed Diana's wrist again just as he landed, she followed suit.

She had not been expecting the tug and almost landed directly in his lap. She had the faintest suspicion that that had been his goal and, as quickly as she could, she straightened up and took her seat—making sure that there was a reasonable size gap between the two of them.

He noticed her action but, quite smartly, did not remark on it. There would be, he hoped, more than enough time for their proximity to change in the near future—preferably a time when there were no invisible Casper's or uppity relations to act as chaperone.

Patrick did not want her to feel uncomfortable, though—or, at least, any more uncomfortable as she was; he had noticed the blush his hug had given her and felt proud of himself—so he decided to start the conversation. Jerking his thumb in the direction that Ariadne had gone, he said, "Say, is that lady related to you?"

Diana looked surprised that he was speaking to her. It was almost as if she did not realize that he actually liked being around her—as if his waiting for her in her aunt's apartment had not already given that away. She shook her head absently. "Yeah. That's my aunt, Ariadne. Ria. She's my mom's twin, actually." She did not really understand why he would ask that, especially since there was a noticeable family resemblance between them, but she answered him anyway.

"I hate to ask this and all but, uh, is she—" He paused before pointing to his head and moving his finger in a circle; there was no way to interpret that but as the universal symbol for crazy, "—all there?"

"Why are you asking me that?" she retorted immediately. And then, almost as immediately, felt guilty for the way she snapped at him. Yes, it was a bit insulting for him to insinuate that Ariadne was a lunatic but, if she was being honest with herself, she had noticed that her aunt _was_ acting quite strange.

He held up his hands defensively; he saw her reaction, recognized it for what it was, and decided that he did not want to start the evening off on the wrong foot. "Calm down there, Diana. I'm only saying it 'cause she keeps looking at me funny. And calling me 'Spot' for some reason. No matter how many times I said my name was Patrick, she ain't given up with the 'Spot' thing. And I ain't a dog, you know?"

"Oh. I'm—I'm sorry about that." She shrugged apologetically, partly because she felt bad for being mean to him, partly because she could not come up with any reasonable explanation as to why her aunt would be doing that.

Assuming that Patrick must have heard her wrong—_there was a Spot Conlon, I know, but he died ages ago… right? Did Aunt Ria even know about him?_—Diana decided to steer the topic of conversation away from her aunt's sanity; as it was, she was having a hard time establishing her own, she didn't want to have to worry about Ariadne's mental capacities, too. "So, have you been waiting here long?"

"Somewhere around three hours, I think." Patrick didn't look upset as he told her that, only curious. "What the fuck happened to you?"

After spending most of the day with Patrick—except for the three hours she inexplicably lost, and the time she was out during her last vision—she decided that his usage of profanity was just part of the package—he didn't mean to be offensive, that was just how he was.

So, rather than get annoyed at the pointed way he asked about her, she was just glad that he wondered what took her so long to return. However, that did not mean he was going to get a straight answer. She knew damn well that there was no way she could give him one when she did not have one herself.

"Listen, I'm sorry. Jack… he's a bit touchy sometimes, I guess. I don't know," she said, trying her best to explain without really telling him anything that would make him question his believing that she was not nuts. In the back of her mind she made a note to give the ghost boy another smack for making her explain away his rudeness to Patrick. "I didn't think that, when we were leaving his place, that he'd leave you behind." She felt foolish and, in an attempt to hide it, she gave him a crooked grin. "If it makes you feel better, I yelled at him when we got here."

Diana dared a glance at his face and was pleased to see that he did appear to be pleased at her words. At the very least, he was smirking to himself and his chest had puffed out considerably. Until, of course, a thought came to him. Patrick did not entirely lose his smirk but his eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, "Is he… here? I mean, now?"

"Who? Jack? No. He… um… he had some ghost things he had to do," Diana lied. It was too much to have to tell about the exchange between Jack and Kloppman outside in the front hallway; it was just easier to tell him an untruth rather than risk him believing something that she was having a hard time understanding herself. And she had _been _present during the strange argument.

"Oh," Patrick answered before his whole demeanor changed. He seemed to actually relax, his back hitting the back of the sofa as he let himself sink into its folds. He lifted his left arm up and set it atop the couch's edge as he realized, "So, hey, I guess it's just me and you now."

For a second, Diana did not understand what he meant. If Jack was not there and Ariadne was checking in on Kloppman, then it was obvious that the two of them were alone in the den.

And then it dawned on her.

For the first time since leaving Jack's nook, Diana felt the nervous butterflies return to her stomach; these were welcome nerves, the kind that accompanied a heightened giddy feeling. She smiled over at him, trying to quiet the metaphorical butterflies' flapping. "I think you're right."

"It's kinda nice, isn't it?" Patrick asked, nonchalantly—but not so nonchalantly that Diana did not notice he was doing it—sliding a couple of inches closer to her, almost (but not quite) letting his arm settle over her shoulder. It had just occurred to him that, after following the girl into an extra room that should not exist, and spending the last three hours in her aunt's apartment waiting for her to return, he had been severely lacking in the charm department.

If, he figured, he was still attracted to the girl after finding out that she could see ghosts and after spending a few hours in the company of her strange relatives, then it would be definitely be worth in the end to at least get a second date.

Besides, she was cute when she forgot about ghosts for a second and could be all flustered like that.

Like she was now.

Diana let out what she hoped was a coy giggle before letting her hands fall in her lap. "Sure. I th—"

So preoccupied by Patrick's attention, she had not heard it when Ariadne re-entered the den, followed just as carefully by Kloppman, so she was surprised when her aunt let out a soft _tsk_-ing noise; it ended her conversation with Patrick at once.

She had no idea how long the two adults had been listening to their talk and, considering the way that her aunt seemed to remember Jack—based, of course, by the fierce way she insisted that the ghost boy was to blame for everything that happened to her, to their family—she did not think it would be the best idea to discuss Jack Kelly so openly when Ariadne was in earshot. Besides being overheard flirting with the older boy, she had the sinking feeling that, should Ariadne hear Diana talking about the ghost boy, her aunt would be unhappy.

Diana was not mistaken.

Though the girl did not turn to see it—she was far too embarrassed; Patrick, she saw, had subtly moved a few inches away again—Ariadne was shaking her head sadly, frowning as she said, "Now, now, Diana. You're not telling your young man all about those delusions of yours, are you?" Sighing, she swept into the room, pausing when she was standing beside the couch. "I thought you've grown past your childish imaginings of ghosts and curses and… and such nonsense."

_Wha—what? _

Her stomach dropped out from beneath her and she felt as if her chest was being squeezed. It was an unpleasant sensation, almost as bad as when Stress' old necklace attempted to strangle her. But, this time, the painful reaction was not caused by the supernatural—it was her aunt's concerned, yet condescending, words that made her feel so sick.

"D-delusions?" she stuttered out, her head swiveling automatically so that she was looking up at Ariadne. "What are you talking about, Aunt Ria?"

The look that her aunt gave her was a pitying one, with a hint of disappointment thrown in for good measure. She was still shaking her head and her lips were pursed. "My poor dear. It's no wonder your mother implored that I took you in for the summer. Perhaps she was right, maybe your schoolwork was becoming too much for you." She sighed loudly—and, Diana could not help but notice, a bit theatrically—as she turned to look at Patrick. "I'm so sorry. My niece… she's not entirely well. I can only imagine _what _she's told you."

Hearing Ariadne speak about her like that to Patrick was like a slap in Diana's face. She could feel the way her eyes were all but popping out in surprise and denial as she turned to look at the cab driver. There was an interesting expression on his face; it almost looked as if he were struggling to place what Ariadne was saying beside the evidence his own eyes had offered him. Wordlessly, he was questioning her; Diana did not like it.

Ariadne continued, in that same condescending tone she had used ever since following Diana into the den, "Diana, why don't you tell your friend that you're sorry for telling him stories. Then, maybe we can give you your medicine and something like this won't happen again. How does that sound?"

She opened her mouth to say something to him, to assure him that she was not crazy, that she had never taken a pill that wasn't an aspirin in her life—it seemed so important that he know that she was as sane as he was, or anyone else present for that matter, otherwise she might just start doubting that fact herself—but, just when she attempted to get any words out, she found she could not.

There was a flicker of recognition in her mind as a familiar scent wafted passed her nose. It was a foul scent, even if it was faint, and she noticed that it was moving toward her just as Kloppman made his way into the den. Whether her aunt noticed the bad smell that Kloppman was bringing with him—she assumed she did, considering the way Ariadne's nose wrinkled for just a second before she frowned again—she shook her head, angrily this time, and held her arm out, effectively stopping Kloppman from taking another step.

Then the woman nodded, and Diana saw the triumphant expression that crossed her face. It looked so out of place of Ariadne's face but, then again, her aunt had been nothing but strange since she arrived back at the penthouse that evening.

_Delusions? Medicine? What was she talking about? I gotta convince Patrick that I'm not— _

And then she coughed, interrupting her own thoughts as she did so. It was a heavy cough, one that left her already sore throat even sorer when she was done, and she wanted nothing more than to take a big, refreshing breath when the cough had left her.

But she couldn't.

Suddenly, as if the room was filled with heavy, thick smoke, Diana found herself struggling to breathe, let alone find the breath to make words. Again, it was an asphyxiating sensation, but one that focused on her entire body rather than just her throat. Neither her nasal passages nor her bronchial tubes were sufficient to carry oxygen to her lungs; only snippets of fresh air were able to pass through her body but it was hardly enough.

It was as if she had walked into a cloud of smog and was drowning in it. There was just enough oxygen for her to believe that breathing was possible but, all the same, she began to feel light-headed. While she struggled with this fog, she could not help but notice that Patrick was staring worriedly at her. His mouth was moving, too; he was saying something to her but she could not hear him.

She was _in _the fog. She could not understand it, and she could not control it.

There was nothing she could do at all but wonder: _What… what is happening to me?_

--

He may not have been welcome in the building but, when Jack listened to the old butler's orders and left, that did not mean that he was heading back to his hidden room. In fact, even as he was leaving—purposely giving the impression that he was doing what he was told—he had every intention of staying right on Duane Street. So what if he was told that he couldn't be in the building? They never said he had to leave the street, right?

After _pop_-ping himself out of the stench-covered hallway—he knew the scent of brimstone at once, no matter how faint, and wished that Diana did, too—he purposely landed himself just outside the apartment building. The Conlon boy's cab was still parked out front but he did not even cast a glance at it. There was too much on his mind as it was—Spot's nosy descendant was the least of his worries.

Almost as soon as he landed on the street he began to pace. It was not a nervous pace but an angry, worry-filled one. The ghost boy was quickly growing livid and, in his state, he did nothing but walk the lengths of that one block, never once removing his eyes from the front of that familiar building.

He should have been expecting something like this, Jack knew. If the Devil and his demonic cronies did not bother playing it straight from the beginning, it should have been no surprise that they would do something like this now, when only mere weeks remained from the century's deadline.

Using Alfred Kloppman as a means was a low blow and one that Jack could not really understand. The apartment building, the site of both his and her final moments, was supposed to be some sort of sanctuary. Just like Jack had his nook on Broadway, Kloppman had Duane Street—it wasn't fair.

But, then again, whenever had the Devil been known for being fair?

He huffed to himself and continued with his frantic pacing, pointedly ignoring any of the countless people who were walking down the block. None of them could see him, hear him or sense his presence and, as such, Jack had the same disregard towards them. Just then, the only living girl he was concerned about was in the care of the one… one creature he despised beyond all others.

_Delancey…_

The longer he stood outside the building, waiting and watching, the more stalk-like his pace became until his very posture, his very movements were like those of a caged and hungry beast.

He wanted nothing more than to return to Ariadne's apartment and confront Oscar Delancey, not only with the charge of masquerading as Kloppman and taking control of the last Daite girl, but finally for the act of murdering his girl. But he knew he could not—not yet, anyway.

In an attempt to clear his head and control his temper, Jack conjured one of his faithful cigarettes from their place in his nook. He had barely regained any of the energy he had spent in transporting himself and Diana back to Duane Street but the little he had worked; the cigarette appeared between slightly parted lips after a moment's hesitation.

There was no need to strike a match, either. The cloud of black magic that currently hovered over the old building was so potent that he only had to blink his eyes once in order to light the end of the cigarette—and even then the cigarette's tip incinerated, bursting into an inch-long flame before sizzling into the red hot embers of fallen ash.

As he continued to haunt the pavement, Jack could not help but be taken back in his mind—no matter how hard he tried to fight it—to that one day, almost one hundred years ago.

It had been an unnaturally still night for early August, not as hot as it was now and less humid. It was darker, too, that night and, Jack remembered, he had stood underneath the lamppost, looking into the candlelit windows, waiting and hoping. It had all been in vain, and it was on this very street that Kloppman had to give him the bad news.

The lamppost was gone and, as he dared a glance up at the building before him, electricity flooded every room. There was no need for candles or oil lamps anymore, and large wooden poles stand on the street corners rather than the lampposts he knew from his childhood. But, as he paced back and forth in 1999, a cigarette in his hand and a girl on his mind, Jack couldn't help but think of that eerily still and quite August night.

All of a sudden, as if a particular thought hit him, Jack stopped. Absently mimicking the same gesture he did all those years ago, he takes one last drag off his cigarette, briskly exhaled the smoke through his nose and tossed his cigarette to the ground. It's cement below his feet now, but the pressure of the tip of his cracked boot put out the smoldering ends as easily as if it was cobblestone or dirt.

Then, with his old, faded cowboy hat perched securely on his head, he lifted his head and glared at the top floor of the building. The penthouse was a recent addition, he knew; many stories had been added on over the course of the last fifty years. Still, though, he could imagine that it was the very room that Stress had died in all those years ago—and it angered him even more to know that he had left another girl in the care of Kloppman while he went outside and waited.

It all seemed so familiar to him and rightly so. But, was it possible that the familiarity of this scene was not coincidental but, instead, _intentional_? Was it possible that, with so few time remaining, the Devil was not only upping the stakes—as Oscar's visit on Friday suggested—but declaring himself a premature victor?

If the devil was so convinced that the game was over, that he had won, then maybe this set up was his final vengeful act… a Checkmate, as it were, to a game that began the night that Jack Kelly died.

It made sense to the ghost boy, even if he did not want to admit it. Stress had been killed by Oscar Delancey but her death had never been avenged; Jack (and the real Kloppman) had become involved in an elaborate curse to do just that, avenge her death, something that he had not been able to do during his own lifetime. And, while he had help in the forms of the Daite family, the time _was _nearly up. The sands of the hourglass were trickling down meaningfully, dropping into a half that was almost full—and, yet, Jack was still waiting.

He, it seemed, was _always _waiting.

Wouldn't it be just like the Devil to let the last of the Daite family—a luxury that he had not provided Jack with but, nevertheless, the ghost boy had—die out in a manner reminiscent of Stress Rhian's death? With Oscar Delancey playing his part, and Kloppman as well.

While Jack waited…

But not this time. True, Kloppman—or, rather, Oscar masquerading as Kloppman—had told him he was not allowed in the building, but that had never stopped him before. Not only was Jack as unaccustomed to playing by the rules as many of the Devil's men were, but he knew Oscar—the real Oscar.

It did not matter, just then, that Oscar was a fiery demon, or that he still did not have much of his spirit back. He had something better—he had his street smarts, and a memory of a dull bully called Delancey.

He had been able to lick Oscar and his brother, Morris, countless times when they were all alive using his wits and his speed. Who's to say, Jack thought to himself as he turned invisible and prepared to _pop _back into the apartment, that he couldn't do it again?

--

She did not know how long that strange, unwelcome feeling lasted—only that it seemed like an eternity. She did not remember much of what happened after it began, she was sure she had heard Patrick talking to her, but that was it. At some point she must have closed her eyes because, when the air was flowing freely again and the fog had lifted, she opened her eyes to find some boy hovering over her worriedly.

"Diana," he asked, a touch of panic to his voice, "are you okay? You just… you fucking stopped breathing!"

His words did not make any sense to her but that, of course, could have been because of the pounding headache that she was currently battling. In an effort to still the throbbing, she closed one of her eyes; the other she kept focused on the stranger who was staring down at her. He seemed familiar—the name 'Spot' seemed to come to mind—but, for the life of her, she could not remember who he was.

"I'm sorry," she said, though her tone belied her words; she sounded haughty, not apologetic, "but do I know you?"

Patrick blinked once, then twice, as if her words had hit him. It was a blow, after everything he had done for her that day, for her to act so callously towards him. And, to think, he'd been worried when she passed out like that…

"Yeah. It's me, Patrick. You, uh," he began, before remembering that both Ariadne and Kloppman—neither of whom, he noticed, seemed the least bit worried when she collapsed—were still in the room, "went riding in my hack today," he finished weakly. He was not too sure how much her aunt knew about Casper, especially considering that she obviously regarded them as delusions—but can a delusion spin someone like a top in the air?—but he didn't want to tell them more than they knew.

Diana thought for a second before nodding her head gingerly, trying not to aggravate her headache. "That's right, I remember. You brought me back from the train station, didn't you?" The way she added that last part sounded like one who was talking about something unpleasant that they'd rather not remember.

Patrick, on the other hand, assumed that it was all some sort of act—he believed that her answer was Diana's way at continuing in hiding the truth just as his previous statement had been the beginning. Eagerly, he nodded. "Yup. That was me."

She looked puzzled. "Then what are you doing here?"

Before Patrick could remark that Diana was taking the little charade a step too far, Ariadne strode forward. And, while Diana was out on the couch her expression had been impassive, there was nothing but sugar-coated concern splayed across her face. "Diana, honey, did you take your medication today?" With one sweeping motion, the woman brought her hand to her chest. "Arianrhod warned me that this could happen if you didn't follow a schedule. Talking to ghosts, losing your breath, passing out… let me guess, dear, you're suffering from a headache now, aren't you?"

All Diana could do, when faced with Ariadne, was nod. Her head _was _really hurting her. Maybe she _should _have taken her medication.

_Wait… what medication? _

She pushed that thought out of her head. Of course she had medication—that was to control the delusions she had… wasn't it?

As if a switch had been flipped, Ariadne lost her concerned expression; as if her face was plastic, she molded the skin into a look of utter guilt. "It's all my fault. I should have been here, with you. Like they always say, a woman's place is in the home—I never should have gone off to the office when you could have gotten yourself into trouble."

There was a nagging in the back of her mind that her aunt's words were empty; that, for as far back as she could remember, Ariadne had been leaning more towards a feminist persuasion and that she was sure that the words 'woman's place' had never once crossed her lips before.

But, as persistent as that nagging was, Diana just could not process its meaning. It was much easier just to accept everything her aunt said to her. So, rather than argue, she just reciprocated the guilt. She felt bad for making Ariadne feel that she was to blame. "I'm sorry, Aunt Ria. It's—it's my fault. I should have just taken the pills." Standing up from the sofa—she felt uncomfortable that the taxi driver was now sitting so close to her—she faced her aunt before bowing her head in submission. "I promise I'll take them next time."

"Wait… I thought you weren't on any pills?" Patrick interrupted, reaching one of his hands out to place on Diana's arm.

If she felt the touch, she didn't show it. In fact, she remained in her subservient pose until Ariadne spoke again.

"Alright, Diana. I'm sure everything will be just fine if you do as I say."

There was a steel edge to that tone that Patrick heard but, quite obviously, no one else made out. He was just about to remark on that, too, when Ariadne—sensing his intrusion—raised her voice, drowning out any contradicting statement the young man might make.

"Is there anything I can get you to help you with your… headache?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow in Patrick's direction though she addressed Diana.

It was a simple gesture but, for some reason, he could not help but read some kind of warning into it. Either way, Patrick decided to keep his mouth shut until the woman—and the creepy butler who hadn't said one word since following his employer into the den—left him alone again with Diana.

The girl listened to her aunt with a raptness unrivalled by anything before lifting her head up. Patrick's arm was still resting on her shoulder but she continued to ignore it; it was as if, to her, he did not exist for that moment—only she and Ariadne did. She met her aunt's eyes, thinking about what sort of request she could make. Then, slowly, and with an eerie too-wide smile plastered on her pale face, Diana asked, "Can I have some ice cream?"

Ariadne gave her niece an appreciative gaze; though hard and somewhat emotion-free in comparison to her earlier theatrics, it was a calming expression, one that enticed Diana to accept her words all the more readily. She extended her manicured hand and awkwardly patted Kloppman's shoulder, ignoring the fleeting sneer that crossed the old butler's face. "Of course, Diana. I'm sure Kloppy here would be more than happy to get it for you. But not too much, of course, there's still a lovely dinner to look forward to."

There was a brief, tense stand-off—it hardly lasted more than a heartbeat—when Kloppman looked as if he wanted nothing more than to tell Ariadne to leave him alone and for her to get the ice cream herself. Only Patrick was lucid enough to witness the silent exchange but, seeing as how he had just met everyone in the room, he was not sure if any of their actions were out of the ordinary. To him, they were all acting crazy.

At any rate, the stand-off was over before it really could begin. Kloppman was nodding, the wisps of the white hair remaining on his head wafting with the motion. "Why no—"

"Don't touch anything that scabber gives you!"

The voice came before any sign of a fifth person joining the company in the small den. But, with a rather emphatic _pop_, Jack Kelly appeared. He did not bother landing, choosing instead to flaunt the little power he had remaining by hovering just below the line of the apartment's ceiling.

Four faces automatically turned to look at him, each of them surprised to find the specter floating menacingly in the center of the room. Even Patrick, who, while not seeing Jack entirely as he was, could make a faint haze punctuated with the warm red print of Jack's faded red neckerchief. He, alone of the four, pointed at the ghost boy and, in a voice that suggested that he knew it was true all along, cried, "Ha! There really is a Casper!"

Everyone ignored him—surprisingly enough, including Diana. She was far too interested in the sight before her to listen to anything a cab driver had to say to her.

Her eyes were sparkling—glazed over and bespelled but still sparkling—as she stared at Jack in open wonder. Her mouth went slightly agape as she lifted her right hand. With her pointer finger extended, Diana gestured at the apparition. "Wow, mister, that was some magic trick," she said, obviously impressed, the amazement written on her face.

However, the impression did not last and, no more than two seconds later, Diana's brow was furrowed. She was suspicious now. "Hey, wait a second. You're not another one of my delusions, are you?"

Jack just froze. "Diana?"

And somewhere, in the back of her mind and buried deep within her soul, Diana could almost make out the following, forlorn words whispered once—

_I'm sorry, Jack. It was too late. Again… _

—and then, almost immediately, forgotten…

Diana shook her head, her brow furrowed and her hands crossed defensively over her chest. She was pouting. "I don't think a delusion should know my name. Right, Aunt Ria?" she asked, turning away from Jack so that she was gazing imploringly at her aunt.

"A delusion, kid? What? No, I'm—wait. A delusion?" Jack shook his head, the certainty that had been written on his face dimming as he turned to follow that path of her eyes: Ria. "What is going on here?"

And, just as Jack Kelly laid eyes on the woman, just as he began to understand why Oscar didn't want him in the building—just then, that's when Ariadne started to laugh.


	59. LIX

Author's Note: _Freaking hell, there's only one more chapter left. I just can't believe it. I mean… this sucker is almost two years of (mostly) consistent writing and it's almost done. Ahh! Well, since this is just about the end, I come bearing the last of the mystery's puzzle pieces. If this whole story doesn't make since by the time you finish this massive (and longest so far) chapter, then I sure did something wrong. And, since there will only be one more update, I'm offering the readers a chance to ask any questions they have that I never answered. If there's something that you want to ask, please do. And, of course, if you're reading this, I'd love to hear what you think. I'll only get one more chance to ask for your opinion ;) (PS, just in case you missed it, I did answer the question of "who were the cats?" in a companion piece entitled, "A Cat's Meow." If you haven't already, check it out!)_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

February 24, 2008

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

--

PART FIFTY NINE

--

Just like he had thought before, back when he was pacing outside the building, Jack felt like he should have known. Even from his place on the street, it had been obvious how strong the aura of black magic was—and it was way more powerful than anything a lowly soul collector demon like Oscar could pull off. He should have known that Oscar wasn't alone, or that whoever was working with Oscar had to be much stronger than the former hoodlum.

But he didn't.

He had no idea at all and, for one of the first times he could remember, Jack was caught off guard.

His mouth was opening and closing, floundering as he stared at the woman. He pointed at her, his finger wagging in her direction, before turning to look at Diana. "What's wrong with, Ria, Diana?" he asked, hoping that the girl could explain what was going on. He had an idea but he did not even want to entertain it; for the life (death) of him, he couldn't even _imagine _who it was who _was_ controlling that poor woman.

But if he thought that Diana would be the one he would get answers from, then he was sorely mistaken. Her eyes wide in both terror and suspicion, she snapped, "How do you know my name?"

Her voice was so sharp, and so unlike her normal tone, that Jack took an involuntary step away from her. "Diana?"

Ariadne laughed a second time, this time at the way that Diana seemed to have spooked Jack. She did not make a comment about that, though. Instead she said, quite loftily and with a sense of cold cheer, "Why don't you ask me yourself, Jacky?"

Jack's head turned so that he was staring at Ariadne. The woman was standing straight, tall and proud, as she looked down her nose at the ghost boy.

"You can see me?" he asked, almost unbelievingly. As far as he knew, Ariadne had lost the sight the day that Diana was born, almost eighteen years ago. Since then the only person who could see him was Kloppman—until Diana arrived. He could not understand how Ria, whether she was being used or not, could see him.

She just nodded, a proud smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Diana looked just as surprised as Jack that Ariadne could see the ghost. "You can see him?" she asked, her voice the very epitome of a suspicious tremor. "How can you see him if he's _my _delusion?"

The tension in the room just then was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. No one spoke following Diana's question but there were unsaid answers flitting throughout the room. No one wanted to be the first to acknowledge them or admit they knew the answers existed. They remained silent.

Except for Patrick.

Patrick, somewhat miffed by the way that Diana had been treating him since she woke up, raised his hand sullenly as he pouted. "Hey, I can see him, too, you know."

Diana ignored him, as did the rest of the room's occupants. It did not really matter to them that Patrick could see Jack—he was unimportant, a simple bystander.

He sighed but did not move from his place beside Diana. "I was just saying," he added, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jack, though he would never admit it, felt a surge of… camaraderie towards the Conlon boy. If it wasn't for the tenseness of the situation he might have rewarded the boy with a wink or a knowing smile but, unfortunately for them all, the situation was far too dire to humor the poor boy's pride.

He turned back to Diana. Though some of the details were iffy, Jack was beginning to figure out what was going on. Not only was the stink of brimstone overpowering in the den, but the cloud of black magic was so thick that he was surprised no one else was acknowledging it.

The cloud, he was only noticing, was centered mainly on Diana. Suddenly he knew why she didn't recognize him—and he was torn. He had known, before entering the apartment, that Oscar was masquerading as Kloppman. He had a pretty good idea that such was the same case with Ariadne but Diana… he hadn't figured on the demons covering the girl's memories with black magic.

His energy was almost entirely spent. He had preserved just enough while outside to save one of them. But which one did he choose? The fourth generation girl, one of the twins or Kloppman?

While it was not an easy choice, it also really _wasn't _a choice. He and Kloppman had been together in the Curse for almost one hundred years. There was no way he could sacrifice such an old friend now.

And, besides, Diana wasn't one hundred and seventy five years old. She had strength enough, he knew, to find a way out of this mess herself. And Ria… well, Ria hated him. There was nothing he could do about that, either.

Jack knew he only had one chance to make his move so, before his conscience started to nag at him or he decided against doing the right thing, he acted.

Ariadne's attention had been momentarily distracted by Patrick's inane comment and Jack used her lapse to his advantage. Before she could do anything to stop him, Jack rushed forward, charging toward Kloppman.

The old butler's reflexes were in control and, because he overpowered Oscar, he failed to do anything before Jack collided into him. The contact felled the old man; Kloppman landed on the carpet of the den with a thump.

But not Oscar. Standing in the exact place where Kloppman had been standing right before Jack ran into him, Oscar Delancey held out his hands. "Surprise, Kelly."

Jack's first reaction upon coming face to face with the boy who killed Stress Rhian was to swing wildly at him but he only just managed to keep control. After colliding with Kloppman—he had known that his strength couple with the faint reserves of energy he had would force Oscar from Kloppman's body—he had bounced away in the opposite direction. His shoulder was sore and he was holding it with his left hand but he did not strike out against the demon.

Not yet, anyway.

Diana was watching the scene with a very interested eye. "Is that… Oscar Delancey?" she asked, sounding more like herself than she had before. There was a flicker of recognition in her green eyes that disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. She frowned. "Am I having another delusion, Aunt Ria?"

Ariadne did not say anything. She stood there, not surprised exactly but there was a sour expression on her face as her eyes went from Oscar's smirk to Jack's hate-filled scowl.

Jack's eyes were trained on Oscar. "Oscar," he spat, saying the name as if it tasted poorly—and it did. It was the name of a fiend, of a murderer and it hurt to speak it when, for all those years, he had been forbidden from speaking her name aloud. "I knew it was you."

When he said those words, he had meant that he knew that Oscar had been haunting Kloppman but, upon reflection, both boys knew exactly what Jack was referring to.

Oscar's once dark eyes were vivid red orbs; there were red and orange flames dancing in their depths as he grinned widely at Jack. "I'd do it again, too. In a heartbeat."

He couldn't control himself that time. Without even thinking about it, Jack took three steps toward Oscar. As he stalked forward, he brought his fist back, preparing to hit Oscar with all the rage and frustration that a century long curse could pent up.

But Oscar was expecting Jack's retaliation this time. Just as the ghost boy was about to let loose with his punch, Oscar melted away his human form until all he was was a large fiery demon standing before his former adversary. "Hit me with your best shot," Oscar hissed, a mouth forming amidst all the flames. "I dare ya."

The heat of the fire, plus the memory of a burned-off arm, was enough to stop Jack dead in his tracks. He lowered his arm hesitantly and backed away, grumbling under his breath as he did so. Jack did not appreciate being bested by a Delancey.

While the heat was almost unbearable to Jack, a dead boy, it was even more so for the living souls in the room. Patrick immediately took a couple of steps away from the middle of the room, pulling on Diana's arm so that she went with him. He was fanning himself frantically, his face flushed red, but Diana just stared.

Her mouth had dropped the moment that Oscar transformed into a mass of flames and, by the time that Oscar had smoothly resumed his human form, she was pointing at him. Her mouth had closed but the lost look had vanished from her face. She was angry—and she was back.

"That was Oscar! Jack, Oscar is here? What is he doing here?" she exploded, questions flying out at a speed that Jack remembered from when they first met. Her arms were moving energetically as she spoke, so much so that Patrick's arm fell to his side. He didn't mind, though; he, too, had missed the real Diana. "Aunt Ria? Jack? What happened to Kloppman?"

Ariadne sighed. Or, rather, Tony sighed because, at the exact moment that the simple sound was heard, Tony stepped right out of Ariadne's body. The woman, her eyes closed and her cheeks pale, crumbled to the floor beside Kloppman's fallen form while Tony moved forward.

Diana shrieked as her aunt fell and made to go towards her but Tony's outstretched hand kept her in her place.

The man was shaking his primly parted salt-and-peppered-covered head as he surveyed the scene. He knew he never should have invited Delancey to come with him; the plan would have gone over much more smoothly if the lesser demon had not had the nerve to tag along.

"Oh, dear," he said and he gave Oscar a disappointed look out of the corner of his dark eyes. "This _is _unpleasant."

Diana could not believe what she was seeing. The fire from Oscar's fiery demon form had melted away the black magic that had kept her complacent, kept her from remembering the truth but now… now that she was herself again, she could not process the scene before her. It did not surprise her that Oscar Delancey was here but Tony?

_I knew Tony was messed up but… what is he? Is he like Oscar? _

She shook her head and pointed angrily at the man—demon—whatever. "What did you do to Mr. Kloppman? What did you do to _my _aunt!"

Tony offered one quick glance at Ariadne before sniffing unconcernedly. "He's fine, she's fine, they're both fine. They're just sleeping. Besides, I don't need her anymore," he said simply. "She's played her part, I'm in. And now it's your turn, _dear_."

His words seemed to burn her ears and that sensation that she wanted to claw his eyes out returned at full force. At least, this time, she understood the root of it. She only wished she had been firmer with her dislike towards Tony the last time they met.

"Race? That you?"

Jack had finally found his voice. He was staring in shock at Tony, his hands hanging limply at his side. There was no desire to strike out at anyone anymore.

Tony waved his hand flippantly, barely paying any attention to his old friend. "It's Tony, now, actually."

"Yeah," offered Oscar, desperate to make Tony's appearance—and betrayal—all the more painful for Jack, "it's Tony, now, Kelly. Racetrack's dead, ain't he? But I'm sure Tony's got a lot to tel—"

There was a rush of warm air as Tony whirled around to stare down Oscar. His eyes were flaring red as he interrupted the lesser demon. "Shut it, Delancey. It ain't over until it's over. Remember what the Master is after."

Diana didn't know why but, as one, Tony, Oscar and Jack all turned to look at her. She felt an angry flush rising to her cheeks under their gaze but she held firm. She did not turn away.

She had no idea what she was supposed to do, though. Only a few minutes ago she was convinced that she was crazy, that Patrick was nothing more than some sleazy cab driver and that Jack was a delusion and now… now that Jack had broken in on the black magic, she felt like a child. After all she had learned these past six days, after all the warnings she had been given about Tony—including her own instincts—she had let the two demons get to her, get to her family.

Her eyes lingered on the sleeping forms of both Ariadne and Kloppman and felt like their states were all her fault. She could hear the heavy, testosterone-filled angry breathing that came from behind her; Patrick was upset and she couldn't blame him. All he had done was follow her home and now he was in danger.

And Jack…

Slowly, and regretfully, she turned her head slightly so that she could get the ghost boy in her sight. She wanted to apologize to him—apologize for forgetting him, for leading him into a trap, for everyone getting in trouble—but she didn't have the words. And, this time, the supernatural had nothing to do with her silence, or her inability to catch her breath.

They had failed and there was nothing she could really do about it—except maybe apologize.

However, just as her green eyes met his narrowed brown ones, all her guilt momentarily fled. The hurt and surprise that had been there when he came face to face with Tony Higgins was gone. There was determination written in those eyes of Jack's, intent etched into every line of his handsome face. He had come up with a plan in the seconds following the unveiling of Tony's part in the Curse; she just needed to go along with it.

Slowly, and only fractionally, she nodded. She was ready.

It all happened so fast. Jack reached out grabbed Diana's wrist, holding on tightly as if afraid she wasn't really there. The action was done so quickly and so unexpectedly that neither Tony nor Oscar had enough time to react before the ghost boy shot out his second hand, grabbed the front of Patrick Conlon's shirt and disappeared.

--

Diana blinked her eyes once. In the time it took for her eyelids to drop once and reopen she had moved from the den into her bedroom. There was no doubt about that—she recognized the pink comforter and the vague mess that Jack's tornado from that morning had made.

However, that did not mean that she understood what happened. And, considering she had only just been coming to terms with the truth again before the split-second move across the apartment, it was no surprise that she was very confused.

There was a groan just then and Diana's head turned downwards toward the sound. Though his hand was still grasping her wrist tightly, Jack was on his knees on the floor, his head bowed into his chest. He was the one who was groaning and, as she stared down at him, she could see that he was far more transparent than she had ever seen him before. It was frightening but not because he looked like the ghost he was; it was frightening because Jack appeared just as he had that one time when the Devil was calling on his soul and he was vanishing.

"Jack! What's wrong?" she asked urgently, squatting down so that she was looking at him. While his right hand was keeping his old on her—she had the sick sensation that that touch was what was rooting him to this realm—his left one was rubbing his forehead wearily.

Jack did not reply except to let out a noise that sounded more like a moan than a groan. He was in pain and she had no idea what was causing the pain.

But, just because Jack did not answer her, that did not mean that she did not receive a reply.

"Diana? What the… I mean, where… I mean, huh?"

Though she remained beside Jack on the floor, Diana's head shot up as she listened to Patrick stumble over his words. He was standing just behind Jack and, while he was still on his feet, he was nearly as pale as Jack and his wide cyan eyes were almost popping out of his head.

She didn't know what to say. On the one hand, she was glad that Jack had, as he _pop­_-ped away, grabbed hold of Patrick too; on the other, she had no idea how to make Patrick understand what was going on when she had no idea herself. The last thing she remembered was wondering why Ariadne was telling her that she was having delusions before Jack was swinging at a ball of flame and Tony was stepping out of her aunt.

Just the reminder that Tony had been possessing Ariadne as if she was nothing more than a fancy suit made her want to vomit. She didn't, though; there would be more than enough time for that later—like when Tony was vanquished and she wasn't hiding out in her bedroom.

She took a deep breath, a calming breath, before patting Patrick comfortingly on his leg. "We're in my room, Patrick. Jack…" She paused as something nagged at back of her head. Vaguely, she remembered Patrick mentioning that he could see Jack and veered the topic of conversation towards that. "Can you… _see… _him?"

The kind yet firm way Diana was speaking to him was enough to calm him down. Nodding to himself, Patrick took a seat at the edge of her bed; he looked like he needed to sit. "Kinda. I mean, there's something there, but the details are a bit hazy." Then, pointing down at the spot of floor where Jack was currently sitting, he said, "He's there, right? Is he okay?"

Diana did not know and, since Jack wasn't offering an answer, she said, "I… I think so. He moved us here, at least." She looked back at the ghost boy. "Jack? Are you alright? What happened?"

Jack lifted his head and Diana had to work hard not to let out a gasp when he did. Dark circles, so like the ones that had underlined Stress' golden eyes the last time they met, were underneath his brown eyes; his cheeks were no longer as full as they had been—he looked utterly drained.

"I had to get you out of there, kid," he said simply, though his voice was hoarse and low. He really was tired. "They already got Kloppy, and they got Ria. I don't think they want me right now, and they coulda gotten the Conlon brat anytime," he continued, oblivious to the fleeting look of indignation that crossed Patrick's face. "It's you they want, Diana."

Surprisingly, she wasn't worried for herself. Jack was right, in a way. Oscar and Tony _had _already captured Kloppman and Ariadne, and Patrick had spent the last few hours in their company without anything happening to him—but, then again, she'd been with the two demons for a bit and the worst they had done to her was make her believe she was nuts.

It didn't seem to Diana that she was their target—it was more like they were _all _the target. Jack, even though he was exhausted, he could handle them; she was pretty confident that, with Jack and Stress on her side, she'd be fine. But Patrick…

Patrick, she felt, had no place in this. His only mistake had been to offer to take her out and now… now he was trapped in her bedroom, eyeing a ghost and being in the same apartment as two demons. It wasn't fair to him; beyond anything else, Diana wanted him to be safe—Patrick's welfare was her primary concern.

Ignoring Jack for the moment, she stood up and walked over to her bed, facing the seated cab driver. "You've got to get out of here," she told him, feeling slightly panicky. He was the first boy to show real interest in her—she couldn't let him get caught in the crossfire of a Devil's Curse.

Patrick did not seem to understand the urgency that had found its way into Diana's tone. He shrugged. "I'm alright, Diana. I don't mind helping out and, besides, I'm sure my boss is gonna be pissed off enough that I never checked back in at work."

"I'm not joking, Patrick. This is serious! You've gotta leave this place."

Her voice had risen and her hands were shaking; she really wanted to see him leave. Patrick felt bad for her and, in order to make her feel better about the situation, added, "Well… I kinda can't."

She wasn't expecting that to be his response. "Wha—why not?"

Her gave her a sly grin and shrugged his shoulders. He didn't really want to tell her because he was afraid what she might interpret from the truth but… well, she was getting anxious. It wouldn't be fair, he knew, to let her get all worked up when there really wasn't anything they could do. "Did I forget to mention that your, uh, your aunt locked the doors behind and wouldn't let me leave?"

Diana took a step back; the finger she had been pointing at Patrick seemed to droop until her arm was resting back at her side. It was a minor blow to her pride that he had _wanted_ to leave but only remained because he _couldn't _leave.

Patrick knew he had been right in guessing that she would automatically think that he hadn't wanted to wait for her. Hurriedly, he said, "It ain't like I _wanted _to leave… it just… it would have been nice to run to the corner deli while I waited for you, right?"

She didn't know what to say. His words made her feel a little bit better but that didn't mean that she wanted him to stay and get mixed up even further in Jack's mess.

However, just as she was deciding on what to do (and what to say), someone started to bang on her bedroom door. The old wood didn't give, the lock held tight; the door remained closed. But there was no mistaking it—one or both of the demons were outside the bedroom door and they wanted in.

"Cowboy!" hollered a greasy, oily voice. Diana recognized it immediately as Tony's. "Don't think you can fool us. We know you're in there!"

Jack smirked at the door but, apart from scooting backwards so that his backside was resting against the edge of Diana's bed, he didn't do anything else. He did not have the strength to do anything else—not even to offer a smart comment back to the demon.

"Yeah, Kelly. Why don't you let us in already? Make it a bit easier on everyone," added Oscar. Diana could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as the demon spoke; she remembered the heat of his breath on her face and grew angry.

"Why don't you just leave us alone!" she yelled, her fingernails biting into the fleshy part of her palm as she balled her fists. "Just leave me and Jack and Aunt Ria and… and everybody alone!"

Somebody sighed on the other side of the door and suddenly, just like she had felt back in the den, it seemed to get very warm. It wasn't as unbearable as the heat caused by Oscar's transformation into his demon state but it was enough to cause a few beads of sweat to pop up along Diana's brow.

"Always the hard way with you girls."

Diana resented the obvious reference to her aunt—she felt a pang of guilt for leaving Ariadne back in the den with Kloppman but Tony had said she was fine and, besides, it hadn't been up to her. Out of a rush of anger, she hurried toward the door so that he would hear her easier. "You—" she began before choking violently on the overwhelming stench of something burning.

Patrick hurried over to her, forsaking his seat on her bed, and started to pat her on the back. Just as she was breathing normally again, he pulled her back so that she was standing on the other side of the bed with him and Jack.

There were tears in her eyes and, when she spoke, she sounded all stuffed up. "What _is _that smell?" she asked. She knew that it wasn't brimstone—finally—but it smelled nearly as bad.

"Look," Patrick answered, pointing at the door.

Diana followed the direction of his extended finger and was surprised to see that a cloud of black smoke was surrounding the brass doorknob. But that wasn't all—the doorknob was sizzling.

They were melting the door down.

"Watch out, girlie," called Oscar, laughing evilly on his side of the door. "Tony's out here flaming and, trust me, you wouldn't want to lose that hand yet, would ya?"

She stared in surprise as drop after drop of the melted metal landed on her carpeted floor before solidifying on impact. She couldn't even imagine the amount of heat that Tony was producing in order to liquefy the brass knob; it was beyond her mortal scope.

"Diana? What are we going to do? Those two bozos want to get in here bad," Patrick said, voicing the obvious. There was a twinge of worry in his voice and Diana's guilt returned. This was most definitely not what she was planning on when she called Patrick up that morning and she felt horrible. She couldn't even turn around and look him in the eye.

So, rather than face Patrick, she looked down where Jack was still resting. His color was slowly returning but the effort of moving the three of them had been far too much for the ghost boy—he had barely moved since sitting up against the bed. He hadn't even offered any sort of retorts to the two demons and that worried her.

She was on her own. Ariadne and Kloppman were sleeping and Jack was out of commission. Patrick had no idea what was going on and Stress hadn't voiced any sort of opinion since giving in and admitting defeat when Tony's black magic took Diana over in the den.

But what could she do? She was just a normal teenager from New Jersey! Until she met Jack Kelly, that was… and, well, she had never signed up for demons possessing her aunt, demons making her believe she was crazy or… or demons melting her door down!

Besides, if she was thinking positively, she had only met Jack six days ago—the rest of her family had had _years _with the boy… what was she supposed to do? She was in the thick of it with no plan for escape.

When Jack explained that they had until August 3rd to learn the truth Diana had been counting on every minute of those two months to help him find out who killed his girl. Even when the ghost boy let slip that the deadline had been, inexplicably, moved up one whole month, Diana thought that they would have that time. She never would have guessed that she would be dealing with all this after only six days.

_What the hell am I going to do? _

"Gonna getcha, girlie," Oscar said, speaking in a sing-song voice. His taunts rang in her ears and Diana felt her stomach twist into nervous knots. "Gonna, gonna getcha…"

"Jack!" she yelled just then, completely and purposefully ignoring the demon. Excitement coupled with fear as she dropped to her knees again and started pulling on the ghost boy's arm. The doorknob was almost entirely melted and she knew that, once it was gone, nothing would stop the two demons from entering the room. Jack was far too drained to move them again—it really _was_ up to her.

_I don't have any freaking clue what to do! I got Tony and Oscar melting down my door, Aunt Ria's out of it entirely and Jack looks like he's dead… well, deader. But what I am supposed to do? Those pictures didn't give me anything to work with and now I'm stuck. Those stupid pictu—aha! I got it! _

And that's when it hit her; she got an idea. It was a good one, too, provided, of course, that it worked.

Praying that it _would_ work, she gave his unresisting arm one more yank. "Jack!" she said again, lowering her voice but only enough so that it would not carry out into the hallway. "Do you still have those pictures you carry around in your pocket?"

"Yeah, kid," he answered weakly, his free arm—the one not currently being molested by Diana—slowly moving behind him. As he slipped his hand into his back pocket, he asked, "Why? Want to say goodbye to Rhiannon?" Despite his lack of energy, he managed to bring a smart aleck's grin to his wan face.

If it hadn't been for the seriousness of the situation Diana might just have smacked Jack for his remark. But, of course, she couldn't do that. As it was, she was the only one standing in the way between Jack and the Devil's men; if her plan worked, she might have just enough time to get Jack back for that later on.

She ignored Jack's words as she stood up from her knees and nervously waited for him to hand the small pile of pictures to her. He did not seem too preoccupied by the smell of the melting brass or the continued taunting that came from Oscar Delancey. In fact, he did not seem bothered by anything; all he did was sit up against the bed, trembling slightly and panting heavily.

"It's almost through, girlie. And then we'll get in there and we'll finish what the damn Cowboy started."

Diana had to bite back a retort. She knew full well that, if Oscar wanted to get technical, it had been _him _who started everything, not Jack. It would have been nice to correct him but, just then, Jack finally disentangled the mess of photographs from his pocket and, much too slowly for Diana's liking, handed them to her.

Instead of angering the demon, though, she started to shuffle through the pictures that Jack offered her. She saw the picture of Rhiannon and the picture Stress and Fae before pausing when her fingers found the familiar feel of aged newsprint. Holding the newspaper clipping gently between her fingers, she tucked the other pictures under her arm.

She heard Jack make some kind of horrified noise at the way she was treating his precious collection but she did not even spare him a glance. Too busy with quickly unfolding that particular clipping, Diana kept her attention on it until the picture she was looking at was staring back up at her.

It was the newspaper photograph that Jack had previously showed her, the one that showcased twenty or so young boys from the turn of the century. As she feverishly ran her eyes across the worn paper, she saw Jack, standing in the center, and her great grandfather, Les. For a brief moment, she looked at the young man that so resembled Patrick before her eyes found the boy she was looking for.

Racetrack. Tony. Him.

She wasn't even blinking now. Using all of her focus, and all of her concentration, Diana stared at the image. Jack had told her once that all she had to do was want to see something from the image and it would work.

Diana didn't think that there was anything in the world that she wanted more at that moment than seeing a young Anthony Higgins and learning just what it was that he did to get involved in Jack's Curse.

--

_It was disgusting out, hot and humid and sticky. The midsummer rain kept coming and going but it never stayed long enough to bring any sort of relief to that early August night. Summer in New York was brutal; that night was no exception. _

_It was dark, too, and if he hadn't been used to nighttime jaunts such as these, he might have been frightened. The blackness of the stretch of street between lampposts was enough to swallow him up entirely and keep him hidden from any other night walkers. Even with his own stubby hands thrust in front of him, hanging in the air no more than two feet from his face, he saw nothing. The darkness was absolute—until the next lamp, of course. _

_When he reached the next corner, he stopped beside the lamppost. The faint flicker of the flame shed some light on him—but not much; the small flame, like him, was battling the stifling humidity and, like him, it was losing. He attempted to catch his breath, struggling to find enough fresh air from within the heavy smog to revive him. Unfortunately for him, he had missed the last trolley car out of Sheepshead and, because of his mistake, he had been forced to walk all the way back to Duane Street. _

_The journey had been a long one and, while a life on the street had made him more than accustomed to long walks, Racetrack had never been a fan of the Manhattan summer nights. He was all but gasping for air while, at the same time, trying his best to block out the stink that always seemed to accompany the hot season. _

_His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his cap damp and heavy as it rested on top of his head. As he leaned up against the lamppost, he was too tired to even wipe at the moisture. His short legs ached, and he wished his pockets were heavier. After a poor night down at the track, he doubted that he would have had enough for trolley fare even if he hadn't missed the last one out. _

_His bad luck did not stop there. If the darkness had not already confirmed it for him, a quick peek at the old, nicked pocket watch hidden in his vest pocket told him that it was also late out. As he read the time, he could tell that it was already far past curfew. Kloppman locked the lodging house up promptly at eleven and no amount of sweet talking or wisecracks could ever entice the superintendent to open the doors back up after curfew. _

_Race sighed and put the watch back into his pocket. He wished that he had not smoked the last of his cigar back at the track but, considering how his luck had been going so far that night, it was no surprise that he was fresh out of his smokes. Not to mention that his dinner had been nonexistent, his breakfast was a far away memory and he only had the growling of his stomach for a companion for the rest of the journey back. _

_Or so he thought. _

_He had not moved from his place against the lamppost—it was strong and sturdy and lent him support for his wear legs—but now he cursed himself for standing for too long in a place that kept him in the light. He could hear the footsteps of someone quickly approaching him and knew that, if the owner of those footsteps was coming for him, there was no way he could outrun them. _

_There was no way he could outfight them, either. His strength lied in his quick wit and his even quicker mouth, neither of which was good for ending a fight though they were pretty damn good at starting one. _

_Racetrack was not entirely a God-fearing boy but, as he stood frozen to his spot, imagining all sorts of goons he could encounter while out alone on the streets, he prayed for whatever God who was listening to spare him. Maybe, if he was really lucky, Jack would still be out; Cowboy, he knew, never had a problem fighting anyone, especially if he was coming to the aid of one of his fellow newsies. _

_The footsteps stopped right outside of the lamp's reach. He saw a shadow but he could not make out a face in the darkness. Chuckling softly in what he hoped was a self-assured manner, he said, "Can I help ya?" _

_"You sure can, Higgins. I've been lookin' for ya." _

_Race's prayers stopped immediately. From the footsteps he had heard, there was only one person out there and he had nothing to fear from one Delancey. Sometimes, when confronted with both of the Delancey Brothers, they made him a little nervous but one of them? He could handle Oscar on his own; he didn't need Cowboy for this one. _

_"Ah, shit, Delancey. It's just you. Ya tryin' to give me a heart attack or something?" _

_"Or something," Oscar answered immediately, almost growling. _

_This was not the Oscar Delancey that Racetrack remembered and, almost as if his instincts were kicking in—a life on the street can do that to a kid—he was standing in a defensive position. Something wasn't right, he could tell, and he didn't want to stick around long enough to find out what was really going on. _

_He didn't think he had a choice, though, and he was right. _

_"I've been lookin' for ya," Oscar repeated, sounding all the more intimidating. And, while Race did not frighten easily, it was quite easy to become a little more than nervous when confronted with an old enemy in the darkness. _

_"Yeah? What for?" _

_Oscar laughed. It was an unpleasant laugh and, thankfully, short. "A little matter of the money ya owe my Uncle Weas." _

_Race couldn't help himself. He let out a laugh, almost as short as Oscar's but full of only humor. "Are ya kiddin' me? What, from the Distribution Center?" _

_Though he didn't see it, Race got the feeling that Oscar had nodded. "That's right, Higgins. All those times you asked my uncle to spot you for buyin' your papes… times are tough now that you newsies got my family fired from the _World_ so I thought I'd come collect the money you owe us." _

_"I couldn't even tell ya how much money I bummed off of Weasel." _

_"Eight bucks and twelve cents," Oscar answered, "plus seven cigars." He paused before adding, "Morris and me kept count." _

_Racetrack would never have guessed that, after all the times he asked the man who ran the window to lend him enough money to buy his newspapers, it would amount to so much. Even if he ever had the intention to pay him back, there was no way that he would have that much money. _

_But, again, he didn't seem to have a choice. _

_Before he could do anything about it, there was a knife pointed straight at his chest. It was a dull blade—or, at least, he hoped it was dull—and it was shining in the lamplight, the tiny flame reflecting against the clean metal. _

_Race never wanted to see that blade sullied. _

_He gulped. "I don't have that kind of dough, Oscar." _

_"I know." _

_The knife, so threatening, disappeared from his view but he knew it was there. He knew why Oscar had showed it to him; he knew what the other boy was looking for. _

_"What… what can I do to clear my, uh, my debt?" _

_"Nothing too much. I need you to get your pal, Cowboy, to agree to a poker game Wednesday night." _

_Race was sure that even an oaf like Oscar Delancey couldn't believe that setting up a simple poker game would clear an eight dollar plus debt. And, as much as he would have liked to believe that that was all Oscar wanted from him, Race was definitely no oaf.  
__  
"What else?" _

_"What do you mean 'what else'? That's it." _

_"Just… just a poker game? This Wednesday? What, do you want me to take all of his money and give it to you?" _

_Oscar was silent for a moment before, "Something like that." _

_"And then I don't got to worry about you comin' after me with… with that thing you got, huh?" He couldn't bring himself to call Oscar's knife by name. It was as if by denying the fact that Oscar was threatening him with a blade that he could believe that no blade existed. _

_"Exactly." _

_"And you don't have no hard feeling's for Jack, do ya? I mean… it _was _him and Davey what got you and your brother fired from ol' Man Pultizer's." _

_There was no answer coming from Oscar and, not for the fist time, Race regretted just how quick his wit could be. Whether he knew it or not, he had stumbled right upon the heart of the matter and, as the silence coming from Oscar's direction in the darkness became even more prolonged, Race wished he would have just agreed to setting up the game without any further questions. _

_"Sure, Higgins. I don't plan on gunnin' after Cowboy or his pal," Oscar said finally. "So, what do ya say?" _

_Race didn't know what to say and he was sure his expression dictated such to Oscar. His very features seemed to be designed for a crooked grin and a joking laugh and the preoccupied furrow of his brow and the worry lines that were now framing his dark eyes were not at home on his face. _

_He wished he would have had the foresight to step out from under the glare of the lamplight. It bothered him that Oscar could watch every emotion as they flitted across his face while he was blind. And, while Race prided himself on having an excellent poker face—or so he thought—planning something that included a pal of his was hard. He could barely keep his mouth in his familiar smirk. _

_"Fine." _

_"All right, then. We got a deal." _

_He could hear the pleasure dripping off of Oscar's words and a rush of anger flooded through his short body. It bothered him that he was letting Delancey pull one over him and, before he knew it, his mouth was moving before his brain could stop it. _

_"Anyone ever tell ya that you look like a monkey with a hat on, Delancey?" _

_The image of the untarnished knife ran before his eyes and, for a moment, Racetrack thought he was a dead man. Then he remembered who he was dealing with—Oscar may talk tough, he may even flash a knife around, but he doubted the other boy would actually have the nerve to use it. _

_Or, at least, he hoped so. But, to be on the safe side, he was going to set up that poker game as soon as he saw Jack. _

_"I'll be holdin' ya to your word, Higgins," Oscar said finally, ignoring the insult entirely; at the very least, he did not bring the knife back into the light again. _

_In fact, he never stepped into the light, preferring to remain hidden in the darkness as he skirted the lamppost and continued walking down the street. _

_"Yeah, yeah," Race said, muttering under his breath as he listened to Oscar's heavy footsteps die away.  
__  
It wasn't until he was sure that Oscar was out of earshot that he mumbled a quick, "Ooh, ooh," while scratching himself in an attempt to mimic the monkey he imagined Oscar to resemble. But it was only half-hearted and done because everyone—himself included—would have expected him to do it. _


	60. LX

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner. _

_--_

_a_ _Maldição_ _de Diabo_

February 28, 2008

A Devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.  
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.  
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he found out during his quest was.

--

PART SIXTY

--

For the first time since Diana started having visions, when she came back to consciousness, she did not open her eyes straight away.

It was a struggle at first, keeping her eyes closed. Her very instinct following that last vision was to jump up, point her finger at Tony and accuse him of setting Jack up all those years ago—but she didn't. Though it went entirely against her nature and, in years to come, she would wonder how she did it, Diana decided not to be the one searching for answers; she would let the answers come to her instead.

So, rather than use her sight—she was sure that the moment she opened her eyes any advantage she could have against the demons would be lost—Diana began to rely on her other senses. She was curious to know what had happened to them all following her quick trip into the past.

For one thing, she could tell that she was no longer kneeling on the carpeted floor of her bedroom like she had been before. Though she was slightly disoriented, Diana was aware that she was lying down; the slick, cool material that padded her arm told her that she was lying on her aunt's leather couch in the den. Whatever had happened after the vision overtook her, she had been moved.

Sniffing as gently as possible so as not to alert the others to her conscious state, Diana recognized the smell of brimstone and knew that the two demons were still there. It was not as faint as it was when she first encountered it days ago; it was fresh and she had to fight not to gag.

_If I ever get out of this mess, I think I'm going to want to hurl every time I smell that crap, _she thought to herself, trying to sound optimistic. Just then, she wasn't too sure that she _was _going to get out of this accursed situation she found herself in…

It was only just dawning on the poor girl that one of the many questions she had never asked Jack was what was going to happen to her when the Curse ended. He had explained what was going to happen to him, to Stress, but her role had never been fully defined. And now… now she was in the company of two of the Devil's men and she had no idea what they wanted her for.

They wanted Jack, she knew that. It was his Curse that involved them all, and it was his deadline that had been pushed ever forward—even if she couldn't understand that, she knew that there was no denying that the final showdown was happening _now_ and not _later_.

But, if that was the case, why hadn't they just whisked the ghost boy away? Why had they tried—and, since she was no longer there but in the den, obviously succeeded in—burning her bedroom door down? Why were they still there? And what part did Ariadne play? What did Tony do to her now that she was no longer needed? And what the hell was going on now?

There was an endless supply of questions but, sadly for her, no answers. She didn't like not having any answers.

Diana's curiosity, however, was surpassed emotionally as she felt that same twinge of guilt that had plagued her when she first left her aunt behind in the den. Hoping that Ariadne was safe and that, when she finally opened her eyes, Diana would find her aunt alert and annoyed at Tony's betrayal—despite her nerves, her fear and her concern that this wasn't going to end well, Diana could not help but want to offer an "I told you so" to her aunt—she tried to quell the guilt that was rising back up. There would be time to feel guilty later.

It had been quiet, a quiet that she was only noticing now that someone was beginning to speak.

"Race?"

It was Jack. Diana didn't think that she had ever been so glad to hear the ghost boy's voice before. It was a familiar sound and it confirmed that, wherever she was, she was not without an ally. She almost let out a sigh of relief but, at the last moment, remembered that she was still feigning unconsciousness and swallowed the sound.

"I told you, Cowboy. It's Tony now." The demon sounded tired but his voice had never lost its edge.

"Tony," Jack agreed, though there was a hint of a disbelieving snort mixed in with the two syllables. "What are you doin' here? We was pals, I don't get it."

"Of course you don't, Kelly," Oscar answered, scoffing loudly before Tony had gotten the chance. "And you never will. You're going to lose and our Master is going to reward us with all these souls we return to him. You, the dead bitch, Kl—"

If it wasn't for the fact that she was currently waiting for the opportune moment to reveal that she was awake, Diana would have loved to have seen the face that Jack made upon hearing Oscar's words. If there was one thing that she had learned from all of her time with the ghost boy, you don't say anything bad about Stress.

She was right.

She felt a rush of air—she could have sworn she heard Patrick Conlon's voice mutter a quick, "Shit!", and was glad he was still present, too—followed by Jack's voice yelling, "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Delancey!"

Diana braced herself for the sudden heat that was sure to follow if Oscar resumed his demon form again but, surprisingly, none came. It was quite the opposite actually; it was as if all of the air in the room vanished and they were all placed in some sort of secure void.

She could still breathe but just barely. It took more energy to get the same amount of oxygen but she was not worried—or, at least, not _too _worried. It was an unpleasant sensation but a familiar one; it was the way she felt every other time the demon's black magic overpowered her.

"Enough," Tony said, sounding lazy though there was an underlying strength that led Diana to believe that he was the one in charge. "Delancey, if you're going to pull stunts like that, you'd be better off leaving. And Jack… I'm surprised at you. Didn't you learn nothing being dead?"

"I learned that I can't count on anyone but me," Jack shot back. Diana felt a surge of indignation from her place on the couch but she was appeased when she heard him amend his statement. "Except for Kloppman, 'course, and all of the Daites. They were a pretty big help and I got," she couldn't help but notice that, at this point, he raised his voice, "Diana still here, whenever she wakes the heck back up." 

"Oh, how sweet," Tony said, though he sounded anything but touched by Jack's words, "you're hanging all of your hopes on a kid."

Diana didn't know exactly where Patrick was—or why he was still there—but it amused her a bit, amidst everything that was happening, that he murmured, "Hey, uh, just how young of a kid are we talking here?"

Tony didn't miss a beat. "Shut up, Spot. Just be lucky that I haven't let Delancey here flame you yet."

"Racetrack, boy, what happened to you?"

She didn't know what she had been expecting to hear but Kloppman's gentle yet firm voice was a welcome sound to her ears. Then again, anything but Oscar Delancey's evil taunts or Patrick's screams of pain would have been a welcome sound…

It was a stern voice, Kloppman's, the sort of voice he used on Jack when trying to guilt him into doing the right thing; it was the same voice he had used every time one of the street boys in his care did something wrong. It was the voice of a caregiver, the voice of a friend, and it affected Tony much more than the demon would ever admit.

Despite the Devil's many attempts, it's impossible to fully erase every hint of who the person was that the demon had been. Anthony Higgins was not born bad; he did not die bad. A gambler's soul coupled with a selfish streak and the inability to win a wager had handed the dead man over to the Devil when he died. And, despite many, many years in the Devil's service, there still the minutest of memories that lurked in the depths of the essence of Tony.

Though he could not explain it, he felt the slightest sense of shame when confronted by Kloppman. He faltered for a split second—the merest tick of time—and, in that moment, he let his façade drop. Though Diana did not see it, his eyes went from dark to red and back in a moment of lost control before he snapped, "You want to know what happened to me? Why don't you ask the Daite brat? She's been faking her sleep over there since we brought you all back to the den."

_Oh, crap. How did he know?_

Diana's eyes sprang open, almost as if someone else did it for her. She awoke to see that five sets of eyes—Kloppman's gentle blue eyes, Jack's curious brown eyes, Patrick's confused cyan eyes, Oscar's devious red eyes and Tony's daring black eyes—were staring down upon her.

This was not what she had thought was going to happen. But, then again, what had she been expecting?

Before anyone else said or did anything, Diana raised her right arm. Pointer finger extended, she gestured right at Tony's chest. "He did it," she said—but, no, it wasn't her voice. There was an echo to the sound, and it was a much deeper voice than her own. "He set up the poker game, he helped Oscar make sure that Jack was occupied. He knew that Oscar was lookin' for trouble, and he didn't tell. He let me… he let Stress die."

It was Stress's voice. It was Stress, from deep within Diana's soul, who made the final accusation.

Jack's mouth dropped but, if he recognized the girl's voice or manner of speech, he didn't show it. Instead, he slowly turned to face Tony. His hands were shaking and, as he moved, his arms seemed to take on a hazy appearance—he was beginning to disappear but it was his anger now that kept him rooted to the den.

"You set me up?" he asked, deathly quiet. "Oscar, I always kinda figured he done it but you… Race… you helped him do it?"

Diana was watching Tony's face—or, maybe, it was Stress using Diana's eyes to see the truth—and she saw the flicker of uncertainty before the evil smile was back in place. "Someone had to," he answered but, whether the girl was imagining it or not, he didn't sound like he believed the words he was saying; it was as if he knew he had to say them but, really, what he wanted to say more than anything was "I'm sorry".

Jack didn't say or do anything in response except continue to tremble in anger. After a whole century of looking for the truth he found it by looking straight in the face of one he had called friend. And he couldn't believe it.

There was no doubt about it now, Diana knew. Jack Kelly's Devil's Curse was broken… but why was everyone still there?

There was a sinking pit in her stomach as she hurriedly looked around the room. Almost as if she had known it but did not want to admit it, Diana looked from everyone in the silent, frozen scene—no one was moving at the moment but her—before letting her gaze settle on her aunt.

Even though Kloppman was awake and well, Ariadne had remained slumped on the floor. Someone, at some point, had turned her over so that her pale, ashen-colored face was staring upwards; she was on her back, her hands folded across her middle as if in a coffin-like repose.

She was not dead, that much was obvious. Though the woman's breathing had slowed, she _was _breathing. Diana's first instinct was to watch for the tell-tale rise and fall of her chest and she was relieved to see it happen… until she noticed something else about her aunt.

Though she could not understand it, or, really, believe it, there was a hazy, grey-black smoke that was hovering around her still form.

"Aunt Ria!"

Like the other's in the room, Diana found that she was frozen in her position on the couch. She wanted to jump up and run to her aunt but she found she couldn't. She was trapped—again.

Tony laughed. It was a high-pitched sound, similar to the sound of someone running their sharpened fingernails down the length of a chalkboard. It was an evil sound.

"Well done, _dear_," he said, his voice so oily that it almost dripped onto the floor, "and, Jacky, well done. You did it—you win your soul, you win her soul and the Master loses his claim on the fourth generation."

Jack, after ninety-nine years of regretting the rash decision he made on the lodging house rooftop, knew an unsaid clause when he heard one. Though he was even hazier than he was moments ago, it was clear that he had paled as he eyed Ariadne. "And?" he asked, his voice sounding strangled as he took one step closer to Ariadne; as he moved, the smoke that hovered above her thickened.

It was Oscar who spoke next. "You can't expect us to go away empty-handed, eh?"

That same flash of annoyance that hit Tony every time Oscar dared to speak twisted his devilish features. "Delancey's right. I never intended to let this one go. I've watched over this one for years and, I must say, I've taken quite a fancy to her," he admitted. "Besides, one can't let such a concentration of pure black magic go to waste."

"No!"

For a second, Diana thought that the yell had come from her throat. There was no way that she was going to let this demon anywhere near her aunt for a second time—but it wasn't her that had spoken. Someone had beaten her to it.

"No," Kloppman repeated, more forceful this time as he straightened up. He was still the same feeble, old man but, Diana had to admit, there was something _different _about him as he drew all of their attention onto himself.

Holding up his gnarled, wrinkled hand, Kloppman said, "Racetrack—Tony. I can't let you take her."

While Tony looked intrigued, Oscar sneered. "And why not, old man?"

"Old," Kloppman murmured, taking a second to look down at the carpet. Then, after pushing his glassed back up his nose, he glared at Oscar, he said, "Old. I _am _old. For God's sake—" Both demons flinched. "—I've been old for over a century. I've watched over Cowboy, and I've watched over these girls. I've watched the Daite family grow and I'm tired. I'm old," he agreed, repeating himself, "and I've lived… I've lived countless lifetimes. And I'm tired."

He sighed but, despite his words, he didn't look old to any of them anymore, or tired. He looked fierce, he looked protective as he added, "I've watched Ariadne grow up—and, I have to say, she's not done yet. She threw her life away when she was young and I never should have let her do it. I'm not going to let you take it now, either."

While Oscar snorted derisively at Kloppman's attempt to talk Oscar out of claiming Ariadne—and Jack stared in open wonder at his old friend—Tony actually listened. He looked like he understood what the butler was saying, but he had to make sure first. "What are you proposing, Kloppman?"

"How about a trade?"

Jack knew what Kloppman meant before Diana had worked it out for herself. "Kloppy, no. You can't do that!"

The old man looked sadly over his shoulder; there were tears visible in his vivid blue eyes but the determination that was etched across his weathered and wrinkled skin was far more startling. "Of course I can, Cowboy. I have to save someone," he said simply before turning back to look at Tony. "Me for Ms. Ariadne. How does that sound, Racetrack?"

Tony didn't seem to think over the suggestion at all; Kloppman's soul was worth ten of Ariadne Cearr's if only for the good that was in it, the weight of his sacrifice and the role he had played in the Devil's game. His answer was at the ready as he smirked victoriously at the former lodging house supervisor.

"Done."

It all happened so fast then…

There was a clap of thunder then and Kloppman only had enough time to look towards the ghost boy and nod once in his direction before Anthony Higgins snapped his fingers and he, followed by the stronger of the two demons, disappeared.

There was a pile of burnt ash that marked the very place that Alfred Kloppman had last stood, but that was not all. There, mixed in that same pile of ash, was the eyeglasses he had been wearing. Whether he had meant to or not, they were left behind.

Oscar saw the pile of ash and spit on it once before pointing at Jack. "Don't think it's over, Kelly," he hissed, his eyes flashing in ill-disguised anger.

Sounding much braver than Diana thought he could considering he was still fading, Jack retorted, "It _is _over, Delancey."

And then Oscar, too, was gone.

Diana barely noticed the second demon's exit. As soon as the deal had been made—she would miss Kloppman, especially since she never learned his role in the Curse or understood what his last words meant, but she loved her aunt—her attention had turned right Ariadne.

"Aunt Ria? Are you okay? Wake up!"

The smoke no longer surrounded the woman—it had subsided in the wake of Kloppman's sacrifice of himself—but did not respond to her niece's frantic call; instead, she remained on the floor. Her eyes were still closed though she was breathing, but she did not wake.

Diana found that, as she was able to jump up from the leather couch, her mobility had been restored. However, before she had the chance to hurry over to Ariadne's side, Patrick's yell of surprised stopped her in her tracks.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" he said, sounding more afraid now than he had during the entire stand off. "Never mind her, Diana. What the fuck is happening to _you_?"

Vaguely annoyed that he would brush off her worries for her aunt, she snapped, "What do you mean, Patrick?"

"Look at you! You're… you're glowing!"

Immediately, she glanced down to look at herself. Patrick was right—her skin was glowing, a white aura surrounding her entire body. But she wasn't afraid—in fact, she was relieved. Though she had no real way of knowing what was going on, she had a pretty good idea that, for real this time, she had done enough to break Jack's Curse.

Jack was looking at her, too. His head was cocked to the side and, nervously, he was running his hand across his mouth before anxiously patting his hair. He looked uncertain, almost as if he was looking at Diana and seeing her for real this time. And then, for the first time in almost a century, he let his mouth wrap around one single word.

"Stress?"

There was a flash of bright light and, suddenly, there was no longer just one girl standing there.

There was Diana Mason, the seventeen year old Jersey girl, with her curly hair, her green eyes, her yellow tank and her shorts. And then, standing right next to her, was Stress Rhian, the seventeen year old New York, with her wild curls, her golden eyes, and a white robe that hid the gash that had ended her life.

Patrick pointed at the two girls and cried, "Fuckin' twins! When did that happen?"

Not surprisingly, no one listened to him.

Stress was grinning widely as she started across her and met Jack's eyes. The ghost boy was barely there but enough of his features remained to see that the nervousness that was there moments ago had transformed into pure happiness.

"Cowboy," she murmured. "I've been waitin' a long time for this."

All he could do was nod.

Stress laughed, a sound that sounded much more like the tinkling of bells when compared to Tony's painful screech. She gave a tiny shake of her head before turning to look at Diana. "I want to thank you, Diana. But," she said, and there was a mischievous glint in her golden eyes, "why did you bring that necklace with you out of the bathroom? I told you not to put it on, remember?"

Diana surprised herself by becoming a little defensive. "I didn't. I just put it in my pocket."

"Which means you were wearing it on you," Stress pointed out.

"Oh," Diana said, feeling guilty again. Then, because she knew it would be rude to continue holding onto something that wasn't hers—and, of course, she could still remember how it felt when the damn thing was strangling her—Diana quickly placed her hand in her shorts pocket and pulled the chain out of her pocket. She held it out to Stress. "Um, here you go."

Stress graciously accepted it before handing it over to Jack. He accepted it and, without being told to do it, looped it around her neck, clasping it quickly so that it was, once again, being worn by its true owner.

Diana could not help but notice that it was _not _strangling the dead girl.

Jack gave Stress a gentle squeeze on her glowing shoulder but still did not say a word. It almost seemed as if he was beyond speech at the moment—that, or he couldn't talk since he was almost all gone.

But Stress could still speak. And she wasn't shutting up yet.

She gave the necklace a quick tug before letting it fall back down into place. "It feels good to be wearing this again," she said gratefully before smiling over at her near-twin. "But it woulda been great if you kept it where you find it. I had a coupla things I wanted to say to Race. What a bum."

Shaking her head, Stress reached out and poked Jack on the arm. Despite the fact that he was more gone than present, her hand did not go through the haze. Diana assumed it had to be some ghost thing.

"You almost ready?" she asked him, but it wasn't really a question.

Jack had missed that tone of voice she had. He had missed everything about her, actually—he couldn't believe she was standing there, either.

The curse was done; they had won. And he had the fourth generation Daite girl to thank for it.

"Thanks, kid. I knew you had it in you," Jack said, finally finding his voice. He was grinning that cocky grin of his and Diana could tell that, in all the years he had spent being a ghost, he had never once changed from the boy he had been when he died. It was a calming thought and she had to smile.

"No problem, Jack."

He looked sheepish then and, with a sidelong glance at Stress, said, "And I'm sorry about that time… you know… in the bathroom."

Patrick let out a simple whistle. He still wanted to ask her about that.

Diana felt her cheeks redden slightly but she found that, with this goodbye of his, she could no longer hold anything he did against him. "It's okay, Jack. I forgive you."

"And that time with Dave and your underwear."

At that, Patrick's eyebrow arched. He made a mental note to ask her about that, too.

Diana had forgotten about what had happened when he shoved that image of David and Sarah Jacobs under her nose when she was wearing only her underwear; she felt her blush deepen but kept control. "I forgive you again."

"Oh, and… uh…" he began, before she interrupted him.

"Whatever it is," Diana snapped, her good will slowly ebbing away from her, "I'll forgive you for that, too."

Jack ignored her as he started to quickly fumble through his vest pockets. Whatever he was looking for, though, wasn't there. It took him a second—he pointedly ignored Diana's glare—but he finally remembered where the object was and, with the last amount of strength he had, he called it from his hideaway.

It landed right in Diana's hands and she was surprised to see that it was the black book that he had written the excerpt about Oscar in—the same book he had stolen from her from the 'FATE' box.

"There. Sorry about that, too," Jack said before exchanging his sheepish smile for his cocky grin. "You… you might want to read that sometime."

"Huh?"

Jack shook his head, not explaining any more than he had to. He had made his peace with the girl; it was time to move on. "Thanks, Diana. Just, you know, just thanks."

He put his cowboy hat on his head, placed an unlit cigarette in between the curve of his smile and tipped his hat at her. And then Jack Kelly—like Diana had wished since she first met him, standing right outside of her aunt's building—just… disappeared.

Stress was still standing there, her white robe shining so brightly that Diana almost wanted to shield her eyes. The simple, silver chain was resting around her porcelain throat and it seemed so at home resting against Stress's neck. It looked good on her.

She reached out a ghostly hand before patting Diana gently on the shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured, her golden eyes seemingly alive as she looked at Diana without a mirror separating the two of them. "For everything you did, for everything you didn't get to do… for watching over Jack," she added, "thank you, Diana."

"You're… you're welcome."

Diana didn't know what else to say. What do you say to the spirit that had been apart of you for so long without you knowing it. She hoped those simple words would suffice.

Stress laughed but it was a nice sound, nowhere near as condescending at Tony's evil laugh had been. She shook her head once, wild curls swaying around her, before pointing at the curiously silent Patrick. She nodded again. "Keep an eye on this one," she said, winking conspiratorially. "I think it'll work this time."

And, with that, Stress Rhian simply faded into nothingness.

Jack was waiting for her and, besides, she had a promise to finally keep.

--

It _had_ all happened so fast. So fast, in fact, that Diana—unable to, or unwilling to, understand that it was over—turned her attention back to when Kloppman sacrificed himself to save the rest of them. She knew that there would be time enough later to truly figure out what happened in those last moments, to understand Jack's gratitude and Stress's parting words but first…

But, first, though, she had to make sure that Ariadne was okay.

Breaking the spell that had settled over her, Diana finally moved. She hurried across the room before squatting down next to her aunt.

"Aunt Ria?" she asked, careful and concerned, as she reached her hand tentatively forward. She gave the woman a gentle shake. "Aunt Ria?"

Ariadne, as if she was waiting for that simple touch, moaned once and opened her eyes. She did not appear all that surprised to find her niece hovering over here.

"Di—Diana? What happened?"

The breath of total and utter relief that her aunt was all right, if totally ignorant of everything that had just happened, came out so fast that she very nearly knocked the weakened woman over with the force. She let out a small, giddy laugh as she returned to her feet and, because Patrick had taken to following her around the room, let herself fall against his chest.

Diana gave him a quick hug—there, too, would be time to get to know (and thank) the poor boy later; until then, a hug was all she could offer—before taking a step back.

She laughed again as she said, her voice lilted in surprise, wonder and, strangely enough, self-appreciation. "I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head because it seemed like the right thing to do. And then she traded her laugh for a chuckle because, sometimes, things only make sense if you chuckle, "I was… I was _right_."

Patrick, in shock over everything he had happened but kind of glad that Diana was free of her ghost friend, decided to humor the girl. "What do you mean, right?" he asked, because, sometimes, things only make sense when you ask stupid questions.

Ariadne, while still on the floor, pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. She was scared, she couldn't remember anything that had happened since she met up with Tony at the office and her niece was all but cackling. Not to mention the fact that the room smelled like rotten eggs and the cab drive that Diana had made nice with on Sunday was standing in the middle of her den…

"Diana?" she asked again but, she was not surprised to see, Diana ignored her.

For the first time since arriving in Manhattan on Thursday—could it only have been Thursday? Six days ago? It seemed like a lifetime to her, too—Diana felt… free. She smiled over at Patrick and shrugged her shoulders. He may not understand what she meant but she had to say it. She just had to.

She was right.

"The butler _did _do it."

"What?" Patrick asked, feeling like the cliché, for some reason, actually worked for the girl.

"What?" Ariadne asked, wondering what it was that Alfred did. And, besides, where was he?

"He…" she began before deciding that this moment called for a stronger word than she normally used, "he _fuckin_' saved us all."

There was a silent moment that followed Diana's declaration before Ariadne's head slowly, questioningly, turned to look at the cab driver.

Patrick's hands shot up defensively. "Hey," he said, shaking his head as he did so, "she didn't hear that from me."

Diana just laughed. There was nothing else she could do.

* * *

_feito_

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, that's it. I honestly don't know what to say. I think it's one of those things that, after focusing on it for so long, you don't really think it's going to happen so, when it does, you're speechless. At least, I am. And, trust me, that's quite the feat._

_There is one thing I want to say, though. I don't think I ever could have done this without the readers. When I started this project, I never intended for it to take on a life of its own—but, now, with one huge epic and four separate companions pieces, the _Diabo Universe _has become its own world. I love it and I hope you do, too. If it wasn't for the continued support of everyone who read this—especially Rogue and Keza and everyone else who reviewed every single chapter… damn!—I don't think I'd be writing this final author's note for the beast._

_However, I am proud to announce that the _Diabo Universe _is going to, very soon, have another installment. There will be a (kind of, sort of) sequel to _a Maldição de Diabo_, and the subject was actually hinted to in this final chapter._

_Just remember the final advice from Stress to Diana:_ "Keep an eye on this one. I think it'll work this time."

_And keep an eye out for _Legacy_, coming soon._

_Until then, thank you and, for old times sake, how about a nice review._ _Huh? ;-)_

_Woot._

_- stress_


End file.
